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mae-gi-writes · 12 days ago

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eyes closed.(2). liam mairi (fourthwing)

Unlike the other marked ones, you despised having that symbol branded along your back and spent your entire life running away from it. But the charming smile and the captivating blue eyes of a certain cadet going by Liam Mairi might just convince you otherwise.

genre: slowburn! rivals to lovers (ish), Liam is smitten. He fell first but she fell harder. Suggestive (18+) content. Happens before the fight at Resson. Reader's name is Kaelle Loo, a first-year.

———part one | part two ———

Things are different.

More so different than you’d have expected to be.

But not bad. Just different.

Winter comes at full force; the snow barreling through the land and rendering the Flight Field a living nightmare. Every step outside the College Walls feels like torture has placed needles in your path, and with the War Games still hovering over your head, there are a lot of things to worry about.

Unfortunately, these things seem completely distant to you when all your mind has been focusing on — or rather, whatever’s been eating away at you for the past months — has been none other than Liam Mairi.

After that little moment in your room a few nights ago, it’s been practically impossible to get him out of your brain. Like a worm wriggling its way into your memory until he’s all you can think about. It drives you crazy, makes you want to flip over a table at the mere thought of you unravelling like a morose idiot at the idea of a boy.

A boy with blue eyes and dimples that make your heart hurt in all the best ways.

“Are you still working?” Liam says over your shoulder a few nights later. You would’ve never imagines him to take refuge in your room ever so often. But turns out he gets quite invested into building himself a space in your bed, under your sheets, and if it weren’t for the fact that he leaves his scent lingering behind him for you to fall asleep into after he’s gone you would’ve kicked him out by now.

Instead, you just huff out a, “not everyone’s a prodigy like you Mairi.”

“It’s just calculus. That’s logical,” you hear him shuffle and moments later, warmth bathes your back as he peeks over your shoulder.

You tense at the closeness. Still not used to him. To being held. To being so physically vulnerable with someone else.

But Liam’s been really good with that too. And honestly, it makes your heart swell.

“That goes there,” he points to the function in question and slides his finger over the page, “you have to even them out before you start solving the problem.”

He’s right. As he usually is.

You throw him a glance over your shoulder, “why don’t you do my homework?”

Liam’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He takes a moment to answer, tilting his head to the side to look at you with a teasing smile.

“What do I get in exchange?”

"My--" you air quote this with your fingers, "friendship."

"That's not a fair trade."

"I think it's an absolutely fair trade."

"We're already friends, Kaelle."

"Yes, but I could be a better friend to you, if you just do my homework."

"Oh really?" he leans in close until his face is bare millimetres from yours, the dimple in his cheek deepening as his eyes glisten with mirth, "and how, exactly, will you be a better friend?"

You want to reply with a witty comeback, but the way he's looking at you has the words die along your tongue. Suddenly, you feel a little too vulnerable, a little too exposed. And you blink in rapid succession, trying to piece together how the hell he's gotten so close to you without your realisation.

Without warning, your arms shoot out to push him away. But Liam is faster, hands whipping around your waist so fast that you all but topple against him with a yelp. You screech bloody murder as you both collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and knees and it takes all but five seconds for the blonde to have you pinned under him, arms locked above your head and his thighs locking you in on either side.

"Got you," he breathes out with a grin.

"Shut up Mairi," but your words don't have bite. They rarely do these days, when it concerns Liam.

"I thought Xaden was training you," he presses a little harder against you so that you grunt, "can't get out of this one?"

"I let you win," you scowl at him.

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

His head dips, face coming alarmingly close as your noses brush, "prove it then."

You're on him in an instant.

Kicking him in the stomach with all the power you've got, Liam's hold loosens just enough that you manage to pry yourself out. You roll over and quickly tackle him before he can do anything, shoving all your weight onto him and pressing one elbow to his jaw, just enough that he lets out a pained groan.

You can cut off his air circulation if you want. But you don't. Instead grinning down at him with newfound adrenaline, "not so chatty now, are we Mairi?"

But Liam's grin only widens.

His hands seize your waist. He yanks.

You go down with a cry, hands splaying out in front of you just as you crash into his chest.

"What the fuck, Mairi?!" you snap and flail but he's holding onto you like his arms are made of iron, pinning you to him so that you feel all the muscles underneath, "Just--Let me go!"

"No," he mumbles into your hair as he shifts to be more comfortable. You have no choice but to relent when it's clear as day he's not moving anytime soon. You slump against him, hearing the soft beats of his heart echo against your ear. It's a deep, grounding rhythm. One that automatically makes your muscles slowly melt into goo the more you listen. And it's actually nice when you slowly get used to this; to the way Liam's body feels against yours, his scent invading your nostrils as your body slowly succumbs to the comfort of his arms.

He's warm and solid and firm. And just about so comfortable you feel your eyelids getting heavy--

No.

Your hand lifts, a pitiful attempt to hit at his chest, "let me go," you mumble out.

How in the world are you even letting him handle you this way?

You've been running from people for so long. This--feeling, whatever Liam is bringing out in you--

This isn't right. It shouldn't be.

"Liam," your words are muffled against his chest, "I'm serious. Let me go."

"And I'm serious," he replies and tightens his hold, practically burying his face into the side of your head. His thumb brushes along your waistline, the act surprisingly intimate and so embarrassing you feel yourself heat up, "I'm not letting you go. Not when I finally have you."

Let yourself rest, child. Your dragon rumbles from the other end of your bond, you deserve it.

But what if he leaves too? the thought escapes your brain before you can stop it and you feel like slapping yourself. You sound pathetic.

Dionne replies before you can overthink, a quiet grumble that you cannot argue with, look at him, child. He will never leave you at this rate.

But what if--

Kaelle, your dragon growls, stop it.

It's probably the first time your dragon has ever used your first name when addressing you.

So you listen. You stop.

And actually fall asleep in his arms.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It becomes more frequent. The nightly visits. The sleepovers. The residual warmth that follows you around like a blanket every morning despite you having to crawl out of bed because of Xaden's morning training. Liam barely spends any time in his room anymore and while you've had your fair share of comments from the rest of the Marked ones about you and the blonde about "fucking" and "safe sex" and "no kids before you graduate", you've gradually learned to ignore them altogether, throwing them the middle finger every chance you get.

You spend the rest of the week babysitting the youngest Sorrengail when Xaden has to leave for another mission -- probably one that involves gryphon riders-- and for once you don't complain, for his extensive training has you limping for days on end. Soon, you find yourself exchanging more than just two words with Violet, reluctantly having to share conversations because she seems all too keen to build a friendship with you despite the fact that you're like an angry cat and reply in monosyllables.

"You can be nicer," Liam says to you one night as he walks you back to your room after practice with Imogen.

You scoff, "why should I?"

"She's trying," he throws you a look, 'at least be civil enough to ask about her day."

"I don’t give a shit about her day."

"Kaelle."

“What?” You roll your eyes, though stumble slightly when his hand grasps yours out of the blue.

He brushes his thumb against your knuckles, “for me?” He prods your shoulder, “can you try?”

Your scowl deepens. You don’t enjoy being told what to do.

A cold wind blows over and he reaches out, hand pushing away stray hairs from your face before he tugs you closer against him, “please?”

You hate how easily he makes you all putty into his hands, grumbling out a soft, “fine.”

At this point, it’s completely humiliating to have a human dictate so much of how you feel. One might think you’re developing feelings for the Mairi boy and it’s no lie that you’ve gotten quite close ever since he’s confessed his feelings a few days ago. But you are more than surprised at how easy it is, to bypass the fact that Liam might love you, might look at you in a way that’s not necessarily how you feel about him. And yet, as promised, he doesn’t ask for anything more. Doesn’t push you no matter how hard sometimes he must find it.

Because you feel it; in the way he gazes down at you sometimes, in the way his eyes flickers over to your lips — barely, but still there — or the way his touch lingers long after you’ve decided to say goodbye.

And the worst part is that you like it.

You want it.

You look forward to it.

The rest of the week goes by in peace. But that doesn’t last long, for you hear knocks raining down on your door on Sunday morning when the sun is barely out. You practically worm your way out of bed, only for a glare to settle across your features when you realize it’s none other than Xaden Riorson standing at your door.

“What?” You spit out venomously, “it’s fucking six in the morning Riorson. Shouldn’t you be with bleached hair?”

It takes him by surprise, “who?”

“Sorrengail,” you open the door a little wider, “what do you want?”

“Her hair isn’t bleached. It’s silver. Get it right,” Xaden sneers, “and good morning to you too, cadet Loo.”

“What do you want?” You hiss.

“It seems like I’ve been hearing stories,” he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, cocking his head in that infuriating way of his, “about you and Mairi. Just wanted to fact-check.”

“Why? Are you on babysitting duty?”

“No, I’m asking because I’m concerned,” Xaden’s face tightens, “Liam is too good for you. Don’t play with him. He doesn’t need you breaking his heart.”

“First of all, that’s none of your business—“

“First of all, it is,” he cuts you off sharply, “he’s my responsibility. So take it as a warning, cadet. You either stick it out with him or you don’t. But don’t go taking advantage of his kindness. I will know. And I will feed you to Sgaeyl if that is the case.”

You reel back like he’s punched you in the face, “I don’t take advantage of him,” you snap back, rage simmering in your belly. The audacity of this man to question your integrity has you boiling, “who do you take me for?”

“It’s a warning,” Xaden’s eyes flash with emotion, “don’t fuck with him.”

The Wingleader’s words act as a wake up call. Who were you, to be so smitten with Liam anyway? There are so many other important things to prepare for, one that includes not giving yourself a death sentence at the end of this semester. The words turn over in your head like a broken record player, haunting you whenever you spend time with the blonde cadet like an echo at the back of you brain every time you’re lucky enough to be graced with his dimpled smile.

Xaden is right. You don’t deserve Liam. He’s everything that you’re not; kind, gentle, and so easy-going he reminds you sometimes of a golden retriever. You’re the complete opposite. Like a stormy grey ocean that always strikes at the wrong time, the kind of dark waters that nobody wishes to venture into. You scare people off before they get a chance to know you, make them walk away by force like you’re a hedgehog with poisonous spikes. So it shouldn’t hurt so much to hear Xaden say it out loud.

But it does. It does sting, because for some reason you’ve started to believe that maybe you’ve become a little better, a little more human, ever since you’ve met Liam.

Who are you kidding? You have too many sins to count. There’s no way you can make that up to Malek in your lifetime.

If you know what's good for you, you'd stay away from the blonde cadet, make it your mission to stop interacting with him altogether as Xaden said. Because in truth, you are -- in a way-- taking advantage of his kindness.

Meanwhile, the fact that the War Games are coming up soon means that it leaves little to no free time, and as the days unravel at your feet too fast for you to keep track of, it gets easier to brush off Xaden's words in favour of training and making sure you won't die in the upcoming events.

It's six in the morning when the alarm bells ring for formation a week later. You stumble out of your room, your hoodie half-perched along your head as you tug it over your sleepwear, still yawning and rubbing your eyes while following the rest of the cadets out in the courtyard. Finding your squad is easy and you fall into formation with a loud sigh, trying to tame your hair. There are three professors up on the dais this time, and your heart starts to pound beneath your hoodie. You know exactly what's coming up next, but that doesn't mean it prepares you any more knowing that this might be the last day you breathe.

You underestimate yourself, child. Dionne's words brush, as gentle as the wind, I did not choose you for your weakness.

No, you tell him, you chose me because I'm broken.

Indeed, he sounds certain, though his words are gentle, as am I.

But you're okay with that, something knots at the back of your throat. You spare a glance to your right, eyes finding a familiar mop of blonde spiky hair and blue eyes. Liam is listening intently, face focused, brows furrowed. He looks utterly kissable like this and the urge takes you by surprise.

You are soft for the Mairi boy, Dionne muses.

I am not.

You do not need to lie to me, child. It is as clear as the rivers of the Vale.

He does not need me like I need him, you bite down onto your lower lip as the Professors drone on about the rules of the first War game. He is everything I am not. That's unsettling.

Or maybe he is exactly what you need, Dionne murmurs gently.

"The first War Game is going to be Capture the Flag," the Professor announces, "each squad will need to find their flag at various Athebyne outposts. First Squad to find it wins and gets an advantage for the next War Game. You have twenty four hours. Not more. Good luck to everyone.”

The sea of formation breaks as soon as they are dismissed and you follow the rest of your squad towards the back of the courtyard, only to be stopped by a hand along your elbow.

You swivel, dagger at the ready, only to find Liam blinking down at you.

“It’s just me,” he murmurs, his voice drowned out in the noise and commotion of movement.

It’s dangerous to be talking out here in plain sight, especially for two marked ones. You’re well aware of this, but you can’t seem to find the strength to pull away. His touch is warm. Comforting. You almost relish in it.

“What?” Your words come out sharper than intended.

But if Liam seems affected by it, he doesn’t show. Instead, his other hand finds your wrist and he tugs it towards him, placing an item in your palm as he closes his fingers over yours.

“That’s yours,” he says gently, releasing his hold so that you turn your hand over.

It’s a ring, one carved out of the most beautiful, smooth wood, with a few symbols engraved along its ridge. A frown dips between your brows and you look up at him in growing confusion.

“It’s made out of Alpine wood. Known for it’s magical healing properties,” a hand goes up to rub at his nape, “but from where I come from, it’s also known for it’s protection properties. Something about its core being able to withstand natural disasters. So…” he trails off then, as if he’s unsure of what to say, “so yeah. I thought maybe that— that might keep you safe.”

“I don’t need anything to keep me safe,” you snap, “are you implying I’m weak—“

“No!” He answers a little too quickly, “no no, that’s not— that’s not what I meant. I just—“ he breathed out a soft exhale and you spotted a muscle in his jaw tick, “can you promise to wear it?”

The way he says it, a string of words spoken so tenderly like fragile glass, as though everything relies on whatever you will say next, as though he fears of what you might do.

“It’s … a ring,” you say, realization dawning, “Oh,” the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them, “it’s a ring.”

“Yeah,” Liam croaks, “but—I mean— you can wear it like a necklace,” and he gestures faintly towards the thin rope attached to it. As if that might help.

Heat licks at your face and suddenly you wish winter would go on forever, “right,” you mouth feels dry, “yeah. Of course.”

“So you’ll wear it?” His eyes light up.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. And before he can say anything else, turn around and proceed to walk away so that he can’t hear how hard your heart is pounding.

You’re going to leave him like this? Dionne chides from the other end of the bond, you might regret it, child.

One step forward. Another. And another. You focus your entire body on finding your squad as Dionne continues, he is still looking at you.

I can’t, Dionne. He’s not good for me.

Yes you can. He’s yours. He was yours before you even knew it.

Dionne—

Go to him.

It’s like instinct. To jerk back towards Liam who’s been — as Dionne had said — gazing at your retreating back. You don’t give him time, striding back towards him with purpose with your arms at your sides, ring pinned to your palm.

"Kaelle--" he starts just as you grab hold of his black shirt, tug hard enough that he stumbles, and press your mouth to his.

Liam’s breath chokes against you. He freezes.

You kiss him. Softly. Hesitant. Unsure.

And yet, it feels so right.

Fire bursts through your chest. Your throat feels tight.

His mouth is warm. Softer than you could’ve imagined. He smells of wildfire and cozy sheets, of waking up wrapped up in his scent on cold mornings.

You pull back slowly, heels finding hard ground and palms settling against his chest.

“That’s for the ring,” you mutter, ducking your head and lowering your gaze so that he can’t see the redness spilling over your cheeks like wildfire, “and for… everything else.”

Eyes fluttering up to meet his wild blue ones filled with confusion, you take this chance to drink in every detail, every scar marring his face, every freckle along his nose and the curve of his lips.

“Please,” you whisper hoarsely, “don’t fucking die on me, Mairi.”

You don’t wait for him to answer. You make a bolt for it without looking back, trying your best to keep your breaths steady as your heart pounds in your ears like a drum.

This changes everything. But it leaves a small smile at the edges of your lips.

You will not die today, not when you have someone you need to return to.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Where is he?”

“Calm down cadet—“

“Where the fuck is he?!”

Xaden grabs at your forearms, his grip firm and tense, “I said calm down before I throw you out of here.”

Your breathing is unsteady and your chest rattles with fear with every breath that you take. Your thoughts are permanently swirling and there’s a ringing in your ears that you cannot stop no matter how much you try. Your body hurts in too many places to count, but the only thing that’s keeping you from collapsing to the ground is the fact that there’s a particular blonde cadet behind these closed doors that’s apparently fighting for his life.

“I need to see him,” you tell Xaden, hating the fact that your voice comes out like a shaky murmur.

“No one can until the mender gets to him,” Xaden holds you down, as though he fears you might just run off. His onyx eyes are assessing your features, calculating what you cannot understand, “he’s fine. He just got hurt during the War Game.”

"I need to see him," you repeat like you haven't heard a word he said. To be truthful, you haven't. Your voice breaks when you add, "please."

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can, just open the fucking door Riorson!"

You surge against him but he blocks you, arms caging you in his hold before he tugs you into his chest and you all but collapse against him as the tears threatening to fall finally burst like an exploding dam. You slump against his huge frame, crying silently into his tunic as every single moment you've spent with Liam flashes before your eyes.

You had barely made it to the ground when Dionne had given you the news about Liam. You haven't understood any of it; other than a few words such as hurt and something about Jack Barlowe and falling off his dragon. But you hadn't waited any longer, dashing through the courtyard like fire was at your heels and barely making it to the Healer's quadrant where you'd bumped into none other than Xaden. Fury had blazed through your chest as you'd made a grab for him and yelled bloody murder because he was supposed to be his Wingleader. He was supposed to protect him.

And yet, he hadn't. He'd let Liam get hurt. And now, the latter was busy fighting for his life.

You'd never forgive Xaden for that.

And you will kill Jack Barlowe, if it's the last thing you do.

"He will make it," Xaden whispers against your hair. His hold tightens ever so slightly, as if holding you might help him believe that, "he will not die today."

"You don't know that," your words are muffled against his chest. For once, uncaring about who's holding you because you swear if he lets you go you might collapse and crumble to the ground.

"Yes I do," he pulls back slightly so that your brown eyes lock on his onyx ones, dark and fierce with emotion, "Liam is a fighter."

"You better be right about that Riorson," you hiss, "or I'll cut your neck off and feed you to Dionne."

Amusement flickers across his face, "think you'll make it past Sgaeyl?"

You growl, shove him off and storm over to the Healer's entrance.

Time loses meaning when you're focused on willing Liam to be better. You sit, sprawled on the floor as Healers walk in and out, and would've starved to death if not for Imogen and Garrick bringing you stashes of spare food and water. You eat because you have to --well, because Imogen almost shoved it down your throat that one time you'd refused her -- but otherwise you're mostly dozing on and off, catching any stray healers to ask about Liam's condition.

All you get is "he's stable. But we know nothing more yet. The Menders will know better."

Fuck stable. You haven't seen a Mender in the past three days. So what? Is he just lying there like a vegetable?

The healers are not lying, Dionne murmurs gently. The Mairi boy will live.

How are you so sure about that?

His dragon is confident, Dionne says, he trusts his rider. As should you.

But it's impossible. The idea of losing him makes you want to throw up.

Unconsciously, your hand drifts up towards the ring attached to your neck. You grasp at the wooden piece, fingers running over the designs that Liam had carved out for you, and a little part of your heart breaks when his dimpled smile flashes through the back of your lids.

You probably drift off at some point because the next thing you know Garrick is shaking your shoulder as his voice comes into clarity, "--wake up, Loo. They say we can see him--"

"Liam," you bolt up with widened eyes, "is he--"

Garrick just nods, "come on."

You don't need to be told twice.

You practically bolt.

The Healer's quadrant is quiet, filled with rows upon rows of beds housing injured cadets from other wings as people talk in hushed murmurs. A completely different atmosphere from the chaos that inhabits the Riders' quadrant, and with a pang you realise you do miss it. Eyes searching the area until you find who you're looking for, your breath catches at the back of your throat as you stride towards the blonde cadet.

He's still asleep, chest heaving up and down in calm succession as your eyes rake over his figure. He's lost a bit of weight since, his cheekbones marred by lack of food and tired aprons lining his eyes. But he's breathing. He's alive.

You all but collapse against his bed, relief barreling into you like a truck.

"Mender says it'll take a few days," Xaden states as he approaches and crosses his arms over his chest, "but he should be up and about In no time."

"And his dragon?" you ask.

" Impatient. But fine," Xaden's eyes flicker over Liam's sleeping form and you cannot describe the look that fills his face, though you can suspect it's a mixture of concern and relief.

He turns to you suddenly, "you should go."

He's speaking like a wingleader, with the authority booming from his tenor. But you stand your ground and narrow your eyes at him, "I'm not leaving him."

"That's an order, cadet." Xaden says. He turns to Garrick, "take her with you."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not there--"

"Then act like a fucking adult and maybe I'll start taking you seriously," Xaden cuts you off with a scowl, "now go before I drag you out of here, Loo. It's not going to look pretty."

"Come on Kaelle," Garrick motions towards the exit, the tiredness in his eyes evident. He's done fighting, and something in you softens slightly at his countenance, "I promise I'll tell you if anything changes. If he wakes you'll be the first to know."

You hesitate, eyes glancing between him and Xaden, "you promise?"

"I promise," Garrick nods, "Now c'mon, before I fall asleep with my eyes open."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It's the warmth that wakes him.

Liam groans, brows furrowing upon feeling the light dance across his face. One palm comes up and he turns his head away, blinking slowly as sleep slowly loses its grip and consciousness returns to him. He spots a huge white room at first, confusion flitting through him as he takes in the rows of bed, the injured sleeping cadets dispersed across the room, the tinkering of Healers as they check upon their patients.

And then, the memories snap back.

As clear as yesterday.

The War Games. Athebyne. Kaelle's lips on his--

Kaelle.

Your face fills his mind. Doe eyes, freckled cheeks, with hair as thick as vines falling down your back. Liam yearns to run his hands through them. That is quickly replaced by concern and panic upon realisation that he'd left you -- last seen you -- before the War Games. His head fills with questions as panic takes over.

Are you okay? Did you make it through the War Games?

Are you alive?

Dread seeps into his stomach and he hears a familiar rumble.

The stubborn one lives, Deigh growls, focus on yourself, Mairi boy.

The relief that floods him is instantaneous and he looks up at the ceiling with a soft breath, closing his eyes for a minute as he pictures your face, the final words uttered from your mouth, the way you'd kissed him goodbye--

His hand flexes against the sheets.

Gods. He can't wait to see you again. Can't wait to show you how much he's missed you, how much his heart beats for you.

"Good to see you back, Mairi."

It's Xaden, perched at the end of Liam's bed. So still that he almost appeared as a shadow.

Liam opens his mouth to speak, only to cough. His Wingleader is quick to give him a glass of water that he hungrily gulps down.

"What happened?" Liam rasps out when he finds his voice.

"Jack Barlowe happened," Xaden's eyes go dark, "I would kill him. But it seems that someone's already onto it."

"What?"

"Your girlfriend," an amused smirk dances across the Ringleader's lips, "is a force to be reckoned with."

Girlfriend. The word sends warmth up his chest all the way up to his face and he feels himself sizzle, so much that he has to look away with a cough, "we're not..." he trails off as Xaden lets out a laugh.

"Oh come on, Mairi. Don't give me that shit," his smirk only widens with mischief, "she's been moping around the Healer's Quadrant for the past week, waiting for you to wake up."

That does not help with the embarrassment. Liam swears he can feel his face go fire engine red at this point.

"Where is she?" his blue eyes dance across the room, "and the others?"

"Everyone's fine. Violet was pissed," Xaden pauses, "she almost got Jack killed. He got away at the last minute."

Indeed he has, and I believe that's a good thing, Deigh sighs against his mind.

Why's that?

Because your girlfriend, as the shadow wielder has mentioned, is out for his blood.

The thought of you polishing your knives makes him smile for some unknown reason. He loves seeing you all riled up, with fire dancing in your eyes and that satisfied smirk upon your lips. It's hella attractive, if he's honest to himself.

The Healer announces that it'll take a few more days of rest and of healing broken bones before Liam has the chance to take his first few steps out of bed, and asks that he gets as much sleep as he can. Liam does as told, dozing in and out of consciousness as the day goes by, for once taking the opportunity to heal his body as much as he can, for he knows that once he's back in the Rider's quadrant, there's no such thing as enough sleep.

The next time he wakes though, he spots your sleeping figure by his bedside. Your head rests along his body, your hand clasping his like you’re never letting go and a perpetual frown on your face. Even in your sleep, you never look peaceful and Liam has the insane urge to smoothen out your wrinkles.

His heart swells with emotion as he watches you sleep. It’s unsure when he really did start falling for you. Developing feelings had not been in his plan when joining the quadrant. To be strong was his motto, to be the best of his year, to be strong enough that he wouldn’t be pushed around by others. Because power was what got you far, that was his biggest lesson ever since he’d watched his parents burn before his very eyes.

But then you’d came along. All guarded, your tongue a sharp weapon and your countenance always rigid. Tense. Always looking around as if danger might jump out at you. Almost like a feral cat ready to pick a fight no matter what the circumstances. It had pricked his curiosity, had made him wonder what lied beyond that dense wall you put up for everyone to see.

But then things changed. Your mask slipped, that one time he’d asked you about your hatred for the marked ones. He’d seen you falter slightly, had noticed the way your eyes had brightened at the notion of dropping everything to run away from this world. And he’d wanted more.

As if on cue, a soft grumble falls from your lips. You shift, eyes fluttering open wearily as Liam watches with the softest smile gracing his face. Cute.

Your eyes find his. They widen with a sharp inhale.

“Hi,” Liam whispers.

“I—“ the shock is what makes you jump, before you realize you’re holding onto him and quickly let go like he’s burnt you, “you’re awake.”

“Were you holding my hand?” He can’t help but let out the smallest chuckle at your deer in the headlights expression.

“I—no. No, no,” you huff out with flushed cheeks. Liam’s grin just widens because gods you are so adorable he really wishes to kiss you.

But he knows it’s still very fresh. Still new. And that you’s probably run away if he comes on too strong.

So instead he lifts his hand slightly, winces when ache spreads over his limbs, “I want you to.”

There’s a bit of hesitation on your part. A few seconds of stunned silence before you move slowly, your fingers brushing tentatively over his before he clasps yours in a firm grip.

“Next time, don’t let go,” his murmur is raspy, sending skittles of heat down your spine.

You bite your lip and look away, brows furrowed, “I thought I told you not to die,” you spit out.

“I didn’t—“

“You almost did,” rage laces your tone as your eyes lock on his, words shaky with emotion, “you were hanging on by a fucking thread, Mairi.”

Liam lets out a sigh, “I’m sorry.”

“You better be!” You yell out, “I was worried sick! Do you know how long I sat outside that fucking Healer Quadrant wishing to Malek he wouldn’t take you?! After everything you said about keeping myself safe?! You should’ve kept that bloody ring yourself, damnit! I—“

You choke on your own words then as emotion bubbles up your throat. And when your eyes flutter back to his as tears burn the edges of your vision, Liam’s heart breaks a little at the sight.

“Hey,” his thumb smoothes over your knuckles, “I’m here now.”

“But I thought you were dying,” you shot back, voice wobbly, “I thought you were gone—“

“But I’m here,” he repeats it gently. Then tilts his head, “come,” he whispers.

You need no more encouragement, shuffling over as Liam makes some space on his bed and motioning for you to join him. You do, after another few beats of hesitation and looking around, sliding carefully until you’re nestled into the crook of his shoulder and trying to ignore the fact that your face is probably the colour of a ripe tomato.

Liam’s heart is a steady beat pounding against your ear, one that reassures you, slowly eases you into comfort as he nuzzles into your temple before pressing a chaste kiss there.

You hiss in a breath, not used to him being so affectionate. And yet, you’re tired of fighting it. Whatever it is between you and Liam. You want this as much as he does.

You’re tired of running away.

“You smell good,” he nuzzles against the side of your head.

Your heart stutters. Gods. He’s barely touching you and butterflies are already roaming your stomach.

“Also,” he adds, voice brushing the side of your head, “don’t think I forgot that kiss you gave me.”

You flush bright red, “wh—what?” You splutter, head swiveling to look at him with wide eyes.

He hums and leans closer. His nose brushes yours, causing your breath to hitch, “don’t worry,” he grins, “I’ll bide my time.”

Bide his time?

Bide his time?!

Calm down, child. Dionne can’t help but cackle in the back of your mind, it is just a kiss.

Oh shut up Dionne, you snap. Though you don’t mean it.

It takes almost a week for Liam to get back on his feet. It drags by slow, tedious, as you juggle the resumption of classes and all the assignments that you had been excused for tardiness, all while keeping the blonde cadet company in your free time. After what had happened, it's almost like second nature to go check up on him whenever it is deemed possible, something that Imogen and Garrick both have been rattling your head off about.

"Going to see Liam?" Imogen calls out after you when she spots your hunched figure scurrying out of the Mess Hall.

You turn, knowing that you're caught, before throwing her the meanest scowl you can muster.

But this is Imogen. She never gets scared of people. She's the one scaring people away, if anything.

"Is that a problem?" you growl.

"So have you two fucked yet?" she grins sadistically.

"No!" Your face reddens, "and even if we did, that's none of your business!"

"I'm pretty invested in your love story at this point in time, Loo. So better make it worth it. Just put the boy out of his misery. He's been pining for you for over six months now."

That only helps to darken your blush even more, "it's not like that at all and you know it."

"What isn't?" he brow disappears behind her pink hairline, "that he doesn't want to fuck you? Or that you're dragging this out longer than you should?"

"It's not just the sex. So drop it," you snap.

"Oh," she pauses. Her smirk widens when she reads your face, "oh," she adds as emphasis, "I see what you mean."

"What?"

"You love him, don't you?"

You almost choke on your spit.

"Nothing to be ashamed about, first-year. But romance isn't for the Riders Quadrant. As you've guessed. You never know when we might die, so that's not a good idea. Not even for you."

Garrick, on the other hand, has been dying to know details of how you and Liam have apparently confessed your undying love for each other. So much so that he's gotten Bodhi and Xaden involved, meaning that you have to suffer through a round of questioning ever time you spot the trio in the corridor.

"Heard you kissed Liam," Garrick commented as you brushed past him that one time during Sparring, "how was he?"

Your head snaps up to his, "what?" venom drips from your voice.

Garrick lifts his hands in mock surrender, though his grin betrays his actions, "don't kill me. Xaden's the one that told me about it."

"How the fuck would he know?!" You growl a little more aggressively than you should've. Fuck Xaden. You're really going to rip his head off.

"Xaden knows everything," Garrick counters, "so are you going to tell me? Or should I bother poor old Liam about it?"

"You are not--" you seethe, "telling any of this to Liam."

"Who says I won't?" Garrick grins, eyes dancing with mischief, "maybe I should."

"No! Argh," you wish you can rip your hair off, "why are you all so invested?! Just --leave me alone!"

You almost bump into Xaden as you storm off with barely restrained anger, leaving a laughing Garrick behind.

Xaden's brow lifts in assessment as his eyes dart from his friend to your retreating back, "should I be concerned?" he asks Garrick.

"I'm just pulling her leg. Kaelle is suprisingly adorable whenever you talk to her about Liam," Garrick says.

"Careful Garrick," Xaden throws him a pointed look, "you're starting to sound a lot like a girl."

"Says the one who told me about these two."

"Fair enough."

As Winter slowly trickles away to leave Spring in its wake, Liam finally emerges from the Healers' quadrant all patched up and ready to resume his Rider's duties. Things slowly fall back into place and go back to normal, almost that it's easy to forget whatever had happened between you and Liam a few weeks ago had been part of a reality you'd stuffed at the very back of your mind.

But that doesn't mean Liam has forgotten. You're pretty certain that his growing sense of touch towards you has increased tenfold over the past few days.

Like somehow always finding your eyes across a room full of cadets, for instance. Even in battle brief, if you're sitting all the way across the room, Liam would find a way to lock eyes with you and send you that dimpled smile that renders you weak at the knees.

Or when there's a swarm of riders down the corridor in-between classes. Liam would then find you, pressing a huge palm along the back of your spine to guide you through the crowd. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and no doubt leaves trails of blazing heat in its wake that sends desire straight down to your belly.

And as if hugs aren't enough, he's progressed to leaving short, chaste kisses everywhere he goes. Like when he bids you goodnight for example, hanging around your doorway until you forcefully kick him out with the excuse that there is training with Xaden the next day.

"It's just past ten," is what he would whine like a kicked puppy.

"No," you narrow your eyes, "just because you don't train with Xaden and have slow mornings, doesn't mean everybody is the same."

"Fine," he grumbles, and before you know it he's grasped your shoulder, tugged you into his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "goodnight then."

Or when he walks past you during sparring sessions, for instance. Like that one time you'd gotten your ass handed over to you by Imogen and was sitting by the bleachers with a dark cloud hanging over your head, so much so that everyone avoided you that day.

"Hey," Liam trudges by as he sheathes his daggers along his thighs, "you okay? You look like someone just murdered your dragon or something."

You growl at that, "no. Fine. I just lost."

"Against who?"

You sneer, "Imogen."

Liam can't help but grin because to him you're just so fucking adorable and no one sees it the way he does.

"Well," his hand pushes a few strands of hair away from your face, "you're getting her next time."

"Mairi! You ready or what?" A voice hollers from the other end of the training gym.

"Yeah alright!" Liam turns back, leaning over to drop a chaste kiss to the top of your head, "I'll see you later," he taps upon your nose fondly, "stop sulking."

And he's off, leaving you a blushing mess with a racing heart.

It would be a lie to say that you're not getting used to it, because if you have to be honest with yourself, you quite enjoy it. You try not to think about his words from that one day he'd reminded you of the kiss you gave him -- though could that count as a kiss when you had initiated it and it hadn't been reciprocal?-- it had been more a peck really. So does it count?

You find your answer a few days later during one of your Flight manoeuvres.

You're already on the field with Dionne, one hand along your dragon's chest to smooth over his scales as the midday sun beats down the back of your neck and causes sweat to pool inside your flight jacket. It's impossibly hot for early spring, though it's no doubt icy cold when you'll be up in the air on Dionne's back.

"Kaelle."

You turn to see familiar blue eyes, that dimpled smile and those spiky blonde strands.

His smile deepens when he finds your necklace, "you're wearing it." he says softly.

You nod and impulsively finger the ring along your neck. it rests against your collarbones, its weight a reminder of Liam's presence, "I forgot to take it off," you bluff.

He reads right through your lies, for his smile breaks into a grin.

"Mairi!" his name causes both of you to snap towards the sound, where Professor Kaori sits upon his dragon, "you need an official invite or what?!"

"Sorry Professor," Liam calls back, gaze darting between you and where his dragon is situated along the field, "I'll see you later yeah?"

"Yes," you watch him start towards the field, "uhm--wait, Liam?"

"Hm?" he turns to look at you over his shoulder. It's clear he knows he needs to get to his dragon fast, perturbed by the fact that Kaori might give him extra duties for being tardy.

"I--uh, can we talk?" you chew your bottom lip, "later? In my room?"

"Yeah, yeah of course, I--"

"Mairi!"

"Yes sir!" he hollers and before you can register what's happening Liam's thumb has grasped your chin and he tugs your face up, "talk to you later, yeah?"

And he drops a peck to your lips, shutting you up, and walks away like nothing has happened.

And it might have been nothing, if not for the stares that follow his back. Then trail right back to you.

You gape. Your jaw parts. You're not quite sure what has happened.

He kissed you.

He kissed you like...

Like...

Like he's been doing it all his life.

Like he can. Anytime. Anywhere. Everywhere.

The thought rams into you at full speed.

For a moment you forget how to breathe.

That is, until you hear Imogen snicker behind you, "I knew it. They're fucking."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Fuck.

What in the world was he thinking?

The reality slams into him the moment he reaches Deigh's legs. That, paired with his dragon's suddenly veered interest towards his love life.

Bold of you. Deigh chuffs a cloud of steam along his back, I'm not sure the stubborn one had seen that one coming.

Liam is barely making sense of anything as he climbs numbly onto his dragon's back. He stares into the distance, resisting the urge to touch his lips and he feels like he should hit himself with something. Anything.

He hasn't even kissed her properly. Not even once!

Oh gods. His father would be so ashamed of this lack of chivalry.

Liam buries his face into his hands. I'm fucked.

You are going to do better than that, his dragon rumbles, aren't you?

I know I know. I fucked up. That was not how I intended it to go, Liam groans inwardly while Professor Kari's voice booms across the courtyard, giving a debrief of their Flight manoeuvre for the day.

Liam barely remembers anything that happens during the Flight session that day, his thoughts consumed by your reaction to his actions as he plays the scene over and over in his head. An idiot, that's what he is, for acting out of character and relying on pure automatic instinct without thinking twice. That's what's gotten him into this mess anyway, one that he's not sure he can crawl out of no matter what excuse he decides to pull out.

It gets even clearer to him when you decidedly avoid his presence for the rest of the day even when Liam tries to seek you out at your usual spots. Alas, he's forced to spend the afternoon inside his own head, wondering what you now think of him and whether he's just ruined his chances of finally being able to love you like he actually wants to. Not with the kind of restraint he exercises on a daily basis. It's becoming increasingly hard to keep focus when you talk, or when you glance up at him in a certain way that has his heart folding over and exploding with butterflies. He's not quite sure where this flurry of feelings is coming from, but what he does know is that you are the source of it. No matter what you're doing, it's clear to him that he's smitten. Truly, honestly, smitten by you.

You are testing my patience with this girl, Deigh lets out a rumble through their warm, sunlight-coated bond, you better not disappoint me tonight.

Liam doesn't respond. He stares down at his plate of food, not hungry, allowing the conversation to flow across the table.

All he can think of his you. And how you haven't even turned up for dinner.

Is it because of him?

He gets his answer two hours later when he walks to your room and knocks upon your door, a few buns in hand in case you're hungry.

It swivels open after a few seconds and your face pops out. Liam takes in the wet strands cascading around your face, your dewy skin straight from the shower, and the way the heat has turned your cheeks cherry pink.

An adorable sight that almost makes him coo.

He swallows thickly and clench his jaw, "hey," he murmurs out, "can we--talk?"

Your dark eyes flit to him. Down to the plate in his hand. Back to his face.

It takes a few moments for you to respond. But you open the door a little wider and he takes it as an invitation to follow you inside.

"Here," he passes you the plate, "figured you'd be hungry."

The look you give him is one of pure confusion.

"You didn't come down to dinner," Liam explains.

"Oh," you bite your lip, look away, "thank you."

An awkward silence fills the air, turning it heavy and crisp with tension as you both avoid looking at each other. His heart is pounding against his chest, so loud he swears you can hear it from where you're sitting, and he shifts from one leg to the other, unsure of how to begin.

He takes a slow breath, a muscle in his jaw twitching, "I'm sorry," is what he starts with, "for earlier. I shouldn't have..."

"shouldn't have what?"

"The kiss," he bites the inside of his cheek. looks away, "it shouldn't have happened."

A frown dips between your brows, "I see."

"No, not like that," Liam quickly responds, "I did--want to kiss you. Just not--Just not like this. Not in front of everyone. And definitely not--- this way."

He's flustered and blubbering a lot of nonsense that doesn't click, and from the growing confusion on your face it's clear that you are just as lost as he is. With a soft groan, he rakes a hand through his spiky blonde strands, "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"I don't understand," you start off slowly, "what you're saying."

"Sorry," Liam mutters. He moves closer to you, finding a seat on the ground before his hands slide to the back of your calves so that he can part them to make space for his body.

Tilting his head up to gaze at you, you're stuck by the intimacy of this scene and heat permeates through your cheeks at his closeness.

"Look," his tenor turns raspy. Dips even lower. Your tummy tightens deliciously, "what I mean to say is that I didn't want our first kiss to be in flight leathers and in front of everyone to watch. I was stupid and it was an accident. Because --" his voice dips even lower as one of his hands caress the back of your calf, "--you deserve better than this."

You gaze down at him in silence as the room buzzes with unspoken feelings.

That's what he's worried about? That you deserve to be kissed somewhere other than on the flight field?

It's cute. And frustrating at the same time, how good he wants to be for you. How romantic he wants to be.

But he doesn't have to try so hard. You're already wrapped around his little finger. Or does he not know that?

"Didn’t take you for a romantic," you finally reply, throat knotted. Your'e glad that your voice doesn't betray how giddy you feel.

"I'm not," he murmurs. His hands slide up the back of your calves, brushing against your lower thighs and leaving hot trails in their wake, "I just love you."

Bold words for someone who's barely lived to know what they mean.

But it still makes your heart skip a beat.

You flush bright red, "stop that. You cannot just--"

"I can," his arms wound round the back of your legs, "and I will."

He tugs.

You yelp, all but falling into his lap as his arms lace around your waist to pin you to his chest.

And before you can protest, his mouth covers yours.

He kisses your next breath away.

You inhale sharply as Liam takes over everything; his scent clouds your judgement and it's on impulse that your mouth slowly moves along with him in a dance that only he understands. He kisses you with intent. Not like the first time you'd kissed him, a tentative and slow and hesitant. Not like on the flight field, fast and efficient in a way that lovers did when they ran out of time.

This time, Liam kisses like he wants to savour you. His mouth stains yours as he presses his body closer like he wants to consume you completely. Your head tips back on accord as his teeth goes to suckle on your lower lip, drawing out a soft gasp from your throat. Liam's chest rumbles in response, taking this as his cue to slip his tongue into your mouth all while his hands slide under your pyjama shirt and leave a hot, scorching trail of heat along your spine.

You shiver, your own hands finding purchase along his tunic like he's your only anchor and when your tongue slides along his with such innocence, Liam lets out a moan low in his throat. He presses close, closer to you and liquid heat zips down your stomach to pool between your legs.

“Gods,” he growls against your mouth, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your heart flutters.

His voice. There’s so much emotion. It almost vibrates through you.

Without warning, big hands grasp your hips and you're suddenly picked up and thrown onto the bed. You yelp, but Liam follows soon, huge, firm body sliding along yours before his thigh nudges your legs open. You whimper and he kisses your noises away with a soft growl, one of his hands trailing along your abdomen before sliding under to skim past your naked stomach as you all but fall apart underneath him.

Hands sliding up the back of his neck, you gently card your fingers through his locks, shivering upon hearing the blonde suck in a sharp breath at your ministrations. He nibbles along your lower lip, suckling upon your mouth as you writhe against him and melt in his hold. Stars fill your vision and you swear you feel like floating on cloud nine from all this stimulation, so much that you gasp when you feel the softest brush of fingers against your lower breast.

Liam lets out a groan so feral that butterflies explode through your stomach, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his hand ghosts over your chest. He hums in satisfaction at what he finds there, lips parting from yours with a gasp so that he can trail a rain of kisses along the column of your throat.

You’re so wrapped up in your cocoon of bliss you barely take note of his other hand sliding down to your ass until he squeezes the flesh and causes another moan to spill from your lips.

Embarrassed and red in the face, you try to turn away from Liam’s mouth so that his lands along your jaw. He nibbles on it fondly as you try to scramble for words, “Liam—“

“Hm?” He grumbles it out, completely entrapped by all that is you. His thumb ghosts over your nipple and you suck in a sharp breath, body shuddering at how good his touch feels.

Gods. It’s pathetic. How putty you are in his hands.

Your face flames, your brain scrambling for composure despite the fact that Liam is now kissing his way down to your collarbones, “I…uhm… I’m not…”

It’s hard to speak when you’re squirming at the feeling of his palm sliding up the back of your thigh, trailing up underneath your shorts and drawing soft patterns around your panties.

You can feel the ache trapped between your legs. It’s practically shaking with want, dripping with the desire to let this man do whatever he wants to you because you would, it it comes down to him. Because that’s how goddamn bad you have it for this man.

But there are things you need to discuss.

Sensing the sudden change in composure, Liam draws back ever so slightly, nose still brushing yours and hands stilling along your body.

“What is it, princess?” He murmurs with a rasp, brows furrowed.

Your stomach coils at his pet name, “I—I’ve never…done it.”

Liam pauses. Blinks.

“And?” He prompts.

“Well, I…I don’t know.” You turn your head away when embarrassment flames through your cheeks, “what to do.”

There’s a pause. Silence falls over the room. Your eyes glue themselves to the wall in the corner, to the soft dent you’ve made once upon a time with your dagger, all so that you don’t have to look at Liam as shame slowly fills you up.

And then, Liam’s letting out a soft breath.

Lips suddenly flutter over your forehead.

You turn to face him in surprise, only to find him already gazing down at you with a tenderness that causes a rock to lodge at the back of your throat.

He leans in close, and when he speaks next, his voice is so soft you barely hear him over the pounding of your heart:

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers against your lips, “if you let me.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Waking up next to Liam is a surprise.

But that’s not what concerns you.

It’s the fact that you’re void of clothes.

Soft rain pelts along the windowpane, the clouds gathering over Basgiath as you rub sleep away from your eyes with a soft, tired groan. There’s a delicious ache spreading over your legs and pulsing around your pelvis, and it takes you a full five seconds to realize why you’re feeling so comfortable and so warm you barely want to move.

But then, someone nuzzles into the back of your neck and you freeze.

Realization splashes over you like cold water.

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

This cannot be happening.

Oh fuck.

Liam’s here. Liam is breathing down your neck. Literally. And Liam is also—

Very, very naked.

Fuck.

You need to get out of here.

Actually, you need to get Liam out of here before Xaden walks in and sees the two of you.

As if summoned by your thoughts, there’s a loud knock that resounds upon your door and you jump, heart going to your throat while you feel soft movement behind you.

Liam groans, burying his face into your back as you hear Xaden’s voice from the other side:

“You have five seconds to get dressed before I blow this door down, cadet.”

“No!” You yell out before you can stop yourself before trying to nudge Liam awake. The blonde barely moves, mumbling incomprehensible words as he burrows even deeper and causing warmth to spread through your cheeks, “uhm— give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you there!”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes! All dandy!” You reply a little too quick.

Another pause. Your heart is thundering through your chest. You swear you hold your breath.

“Fine. Don’t be late. Ten minutes.”

Footsteps echo across the stone floor as Xaden walks away and you slump in defeat as relief washes through you like a tidal wave. For fuck’s sake, what you do for this stupid blonde with that fucking dimple—

“All dandy? Really?”

Yelping, you jerk back and make a grab for the sheets, twisting over to see Liam grinning like there’s no tomorrow, blue eyes gleaming with amusement as he regards your flustered self.

“Get out of my room,” you snap, “you overstayed your welcome.”

“I did?” He cocks a brow, slides closer as his arms cage you by the waist. He tugs and you fall against him, red cheeks and all as he nuzzles into your neck, “that’s not what you said last night.”

Flushing to the tips of your toes, you try to shove him off the bed but he’s having none of that, holding you hostage against him before kissing his way up your neck.

“Mairi,” you warn, though your tone falters as he nips at a particular spot along your jaw, “stop it.”

His head lifts. He grins at you and leans in close, “make me,” he whispers.

And before you know it, he spins you so fast you gasp when your back meets the mattress. Liam towers over you, one arm next to your head, the other ghosting down your body to grip your hips, his nose brushing yours with a soft smile.

You can’t help but watch him. Admire the way his muscles bunch under his skin. Watch the marks roaming up his arm and cording up his bicep.

He’s utterly beautiful. Mesmerizing. And you feel your heart sputter just by looking at him.

But when your eyes find his face, you notice him doing the same thing; admiring you like you’re a piece of art.

Your breath stutters.

You’ve never been looked at this way before.

Not like this.

Not like you’re the definition of beauty.

But in Liam’s eyes, you can feel it.

And when he leans down to part your lips, the moan that leaves you causes his own chest to rumble.

You melt like a pliant leaf and he grins against your mouth, kissing you over and over again like he hasn’t had enough from last night. Your hands cradle his cheeks, traveling over to his back and digging your nails into his skin when his tongue twines with yours with a skill that leaves you breathless. He groans at your actions, his own hands roaming down to grab your derriere.

He squeezes and you gasp. Your head tilts back against the pillow, lips parting with his while he busies himself scattering butterfly kisses along your collarbone.

“Beautiful,” is what he murmurs against your skin. He bites at it playfully and you gasp, the sound turning into a soft whine when his tongue darts out to lick at your breast.

You try to find logic and reason. Though it’s a tough feat when all you want to do is let Liam get his hands on you.

“Right,” your arms come up to push gently at his chest, “I need to go—“

But Liam kisses you, as if drunk on your presence. As if he can’t quite stop himself.

“Mairi,” you mumble against his mouth, feeling his hands grip your hips a little tighter, “Xaden’s gonna kill me if I’m not there on time.”

A growl erupts from the blonde’s chest, but he finally parts from you with a soft sigh, forehead resting against yours as thumb rubs soft circles along your hip.

“When you come back,” Liam’s murmur is tender, almost hesitant as he searches your gaze, “promise me one thing.”

You search his eyes for an answer you can’t quite find, “what thing?”

“Nothing will change between us. That all this—“ his beautiful jaw ticks, “all this was real.”

“It was real,” your voice comes out shaky.

“Good,” and with that he presses one last chaste kiss atop your temple, “it is real.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

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mae-gi-writes · 13 days ago

Text

Not With Me | Garrick Tavis

Garrick Week Masterlist

Summary: Everyone knows Garrick Tavis is all sharp edges and discipline—until they witness the quiet tenderness he reserves for the one person who sees through it all.

Note: For Garrick Week Day 2: Gentle Giant - @empyreanevents

Pairing: Garrick Tavis x reader

Warnings: light mention of injuries and soft domestic fluff

Word Count: <1k

“Is he trying to kill us?”

“Pretty sure I saw my soul leave my body after that last hit.”

“I dream of the day Xaden puts him through a wall instead.”

The complaints echo through the sparring gym like the aftermath of a battlefield. One by one, your squad stumbles off the mats, groaning and limping, clothes sweat-soaked and pride thoroughly shattered. Garrick stands in the center of it all, arms crossed, looming like a monolith with judgment carved into every hard line of his face. He doesn’t say a word—just surveys the carnage with the same deadpan glare he’s worn since sunrise.

You try not to laugh.

Try being the operative word.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you call out, biting back a grin as one of the cadets cradles his ribs like they’ve betrayed him. “You’re all still standing.”

“Barely,” Sawyer groans, dropping onto a bench like he’s been shot. “I swear, does he even like us?”

“He’s like a wall,” Violet mutters. “With knives.”

“And an emotional support dagger collection,” Ridoc deadpans.

That makes you snort. Loudly.

“He’s not like this with me,” you say, far too casually.

Several heads snap toward you at once.

Sawyer narrows his eyes like he’s solving a riddle. “What do you mean he’s not like this with you?”

You shrug. “Exactly what I said. He’s… different. Kinda like a teddy bear.”

The silence that follows is laced with suspicion and disbelief.

Then Ridoc crosses his arms, smirking. “Yea, alright. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You just smile. “You don’t believe me?”

“We are talking about the same person, right?” Ridoc raises a brow at you and you just shrug.

“Okay, Gamlyn.”

Later that evening, second squad takes over most of the common room, grumbling, and milking the soreness of their muscles for all it’s worth. Every now and then, someone winces from laughing too hard. You’re curled into your usual corner of the couch, feet propped up on the table before you with a book resting on your knees.

The door creaks open.

Garrick enters, still in his training gear, sleeves rolled up, sweat-damp hair curling at his temples.

Instantly, the room shifts. Every back straightens. Conversations die mid-sentence. It’s as if just existing near him carries a threat level.

Except for you.

You don’t even lift your head as he walks in.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t say a word, just crosses the room with long, purposeful strides, sinks to one knee in front of you, and starts undoing the straps of your boots like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room goes deathly quiet.

Sawyer’s jaw drops. Ridoc makes a sound that might be a whimper.

Your heart tugs in your chest at the familiar tenderness in Garrick’s touch—rough fingers moving carefully, methodically, brushing your calf with more reverence than you’d ever expect from a man who made half your squad tap out by lunch.

“How’s your ankle today?” he murmurs, thumb ghosting over the spot you tweaked last week.

“Better,” you say softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his temple. “Still sore.”

He frowns, and that tight line between his brows deepens. “You should’ve sat out. I would’ve covered for you.”

You arch a brow. “You literally made Sawyer do laps for blinking wrong today.”

Garrick doesn’t even flinch. “He did blink like he had a secret.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m only impossible with them,” he says, voice dropping to something low and intimate. “Not with you.”

That’s the moment someone chokes.

You glance up.

The squad is frozen in stunned disbelief. Like they’ve just seen a gryphon juggle.

Ridoc is gaping. “Did he just—Are you—Did he smile?”

Rhiannon hisses, “He knelt. He literally knelt like she’s a fucking princess.”

“I think I’m going to pass out,” comes from Ridoc again.

Garrick lifts his head—slowly—and glares at them. “You all have something to say?”

A chorus of head shakes follows, immediate and frantic.

“Nope.”

“Not a word.”

“Carry on, Section Leader.”

Your smirk is all teeth as you thread your fingers through Garrick’s hair, dragging your nails gently along his scalp until his eyes flutter closed. He leans into your touch like he’s starving for it.

“Teddy bear,” you say sweetly.

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, ears tinged red, but he doesn’t move away.

Doesn’t even deny it.

And that silence? That unspoken, stunned reverence echoing from your squad as they watch the coldest man they know kneel at your feet and massage your sore calf with calloused hands?

That’s better than victory on the sparring mat any day.

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse

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mae-gi-writes · 25 days ago

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a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

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mae-gi-writes · 1 month ago

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Empyrean series masterlist.

LIAM

EYES CLOSED part one | part two Unlike the other marked ones, you despised having that symbol branded along your back and spent your entire life running away from it. But the charming smile and the captivating blue eyes of a certain cadet going by Liam Mairi might just convince you otherwise.

#fourth wing #empyrean #empyrean events #iron flame #onyx storm #Liam mairi #violet sorrengail #Brennan sorrengail #xaden riorson #fourth wing x reader #ridoc #dain #sawyer #bodhi #garrick

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mae-gi-writes · 1 month ago

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eyes closed. (1) . liam mairi (fourthwing)

genre: slowburn! rivals to lovers (ish), Liam is smitten. He fell first but she fell harder. Happens before the fight at Resson. Reader's name is Kaelle Loo, a first-year.

----part one | part two -----

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

He's always finding you, one way or another.

You scurry over to a stack of books, glancing back over your shoulder as you make quick work of blending into the cream textures of the library. It's void at this time of the day, the hot afternoon sun beating down and gleaming over the arrays of shelves, the kind of weather that cadets usually thrive in. Not you. You hate the heat, and you hate being outside when all it does is either make you sweat or renders you cold.

Most of all, you hate it here. Which is why you try to find ways of making this experience as bearable as possible. And that is finding solace in the library.

Suddenly stumbling upon a cream-coloured figure, your face softens into a smile when you're met with Jesinia's kind eyes.

"Hey Kaelle," she signs with quick motions of her hands, "hiding again?"

"You know it," you sign back, shoulders lift into a shrug, "anything new?"

"None yet," Jesinia turns to point at the bookshelf in the far corner, "but you might want to check out this one. A lot of returned books recently.”

“Thank you,” and you’re off, winding through the smell of paper and faded ink pen until you find what you’re looking for.

Unfortunately though, it looks like you’re not alone.

“Hey Kaelle.”

Liam Mairi— with his lovely blue eyes and that dimpled smile. The kind that would make everyone falter for a second.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out colder than expected.

He holds up the book from his lap, “reading?”

“Why are you telling me like it’s a question?”

“Because I’m not quite sure I understand it, whatever it is that’s written there,” Liam’s grin deepens tenfold before he straightens up, making some space for you as you slowly resign yourself to crouch by his side, your eyes already scanning for book titles that seem unfamiliar to you.

Finally, you let out a long prolonged sigh, “who sent you this time?”

He shrugs, but you can read him like an open hook. He’s always been so easy to decipher. Which is probably for the best when he’s basically stalking your every move.

“Liam,” your tone sharpens, “tell me.”

A soft sigh escapes his lips, “who else?”

“What is it this time?”

“You know we’re smuggling weapons,” his voice softens into a hushed whisper, hlue eyes darting around to scan the area before flicking back to your face, “he needs all the help he can get. It's--getting tougher."

"Well maybe that's something he shouldn't do."

Liam throws you a pointed look, as if whatever you suggested is completely irrelevant, "you know we can't do that. You know what's at stake--"

"I don't want to know," you cut him off suddenly, annoyance trickling through you at the thought that Liam might believe you're still one of them after you made it clear you had no intention of helping out with their vendetta when all you wanted was to be normal, "I don't want anything to do with whatever stupid, life-risking plan you guys are trying to come up with. So save your breath, my answer is already no."

You're straightening up before the words are barely out of your mouth and would've already been charging out of the library if not for Liam's hand snapping up to grab your wrist.

"Wait," he murmurs softly, "Kaelle. Just--hear me out."

It's probably the emotion in his voice that makes you falter, that makes you turn back to him with pressed lips and a clenched jaw. But he takes your silence as cue to continue, looking up into your eyes as he bites his lower lip, "you know the youngest Sorrengail right? Violet?"

"Yeah, how can I not?" you snort, "she's made herself an easy target with that mouth."

"What if you helped me?"

You blinked, "I don't quite follow."

Liam's gaze is steady and unflinching as he gazes up at you, "what if you help me, not as a marked one. But as a friend."

"We're not friends."

"I--" he bites the inside of his cheek and lets out a soft breath, hand unconsciously tugging you closer in the gentlest manner, "please?"

Sighing out in annoyance, you allow yourself to turn as a hand comes up to press against the bridge of your nose, "what do you need?"

You swear you're making a huge mistake, helping Liam out when he's been nothing but trouble for you. But one look at him makes all your resolve crumble. Maybe it's the emotion swimming in his eyes, the desperation lining his face that reminds you so much of your own, that has you folding over like a leaf.

You decide not to dwell on it. As long as you have nothing to do with Xaden Riorson, the one and only marked one who seems to be in charge and who's self-appointed himself as some kind of fatherly figure that makes you want to hurl the entire contents of your bedroom at him.

Then it should be fine. Right?

Right?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"I can't believe I signed up to be a babysitter," you grumble into your vest.

Liam chuckles from your side as he buttons up his flight jacket, "just think of it as trying to get to know her better."

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm not particularly keen on making friends," you retort.

"Yeah I've noticed," he throws you a thoughtful look, one that makes you snap, "what?"

"Nothing," his lips curl into a half-smile, one that you cannot read. It's not the kind of thing you're used to seeing. People don't tend to smile at you when the first thing they see is the marks climbing up your neck like a collar.

The only reason why you are here currently is due to none other than Violet Sorrengail, who Liam has apparently been put on duty to babysit. Because of the lack of manpower that Xaden needs in order to smuggle weapons out to the fliers, Liam has been dispatched to help in all ways he can, leaving you to look after Violet like some kind of mother hen just to make sure she doesn't cut her own head off.

The idea of it is downright ludicrous to you and you have half a mind to yell about it to the Riorson descendant later.

Your first mission? Accompanying Violet as she practices flying with her big-ass dragon that scares the shit out of you.

On cue, as if they've been summoned by your own thoughts, you feel the warm vibration of wingbeats at your back and a moment later, the rocky shattering of the earth as the weight of your dragons land behind you.

Feeling the softest brush of heat at your back, you turn and can't help but grin up at your dragon. A tiny one in comparison to all the others, but one that you'll choose again and again, no doubt in all the lives to come.

Hey Dionne, your hand comes up just as your dragon lowers his head so that your palm presses against his snout, sorry for bothering you. I know it's usually your nap time.

His amber eyes blink back at you gently, I would be mad to let another Dragon carry you, even if it's Deigh.

"Oh I know," you say aloud with a grin as you rub his purple black scales, "you're too proud to let that happen."

Another growl resounds to your right and you force yourself not to look, despite the fact that you can feel Tairn -- Violet's dragon -- from a mile away. You hear Violet's hushed murmurs as she speaks to him, but decide to climb your dragon instead, manoeuvring yourself with ease since Dionne is of a slimmer build. As if he's made just for a rider of your size.

"Ready?" Liam calls out from where he sits along Deigh's back.

You nod at him, and when he confirms the same with Violet, soars up into the sky.

You follow, grabbing hold of Dionne as he proceeds to follow Liam's dragon into the open air. Off you go, feeling the wind trickle through your hair and the coldness seeping through your skin -- a nice welcome from the scorching heat below -- as you all but crouch against your dragon's spine. He's all speed and agility, whipping through the clouds and causing your hands to numb with the sheer force needed to stay on his backside. He banks left, following Deigh and the giant form above you can only recognise as Tairn, before doing a little spin that leaves your head reeling.

Was that really necessary? you ask him through the shimmering silver bond.

My apologies, it's been a while since I've seen so much sun, Dionne chuckles, I get excited about that.

I can see that.

You fly for what feels to be two hours -- judging by the numbness of your limbs and the fact that you can't feel your face. It's only when Dionne finally manages to land right outside Basgiath's courtyards that you feel the warmth finally seep through your palms. Descending from your dragon and checking his scales for any debris that might've gotten stuck to him, you don't notice Violet approaching until you hear her clearing her throat.

"Hey," she says, looking a little guarded. You don't blame her. You're not the picture of wholesome and welcoming, "thanks. For accompanying me. Liam," she gestures towards the said young man looking busy as though he's having an argument with his dragon, "he told me how he asked you for help. And I--well, thanks."

"You shouldn't thank me," you cross your arms, "thank Liam."

“Still,” apprehension flickers in her eyes, her posture rigid and taut, “thank you.”

You nod, not knowing what else to say, and turn back to Dionne.

You don’t hear Violet leave, focusing on your bond with Dionne so that you won’t say something you don’t mean. It happens to you at the worst of times and you’d rather not show it off to anyone in the near vicinity.

Are you alright?

Dionne’s gentle words are a soothing caress against your mind.

You nod, hiding your face in his scales as your knuckles turn white. Yeah, I just don’t know why Xaden’s obsessed with her when her mother’s the reason my entire family is dead.

The matters of the heart is always a complicated thing, Dionne says as he blinks down at you, but she is not her mother, Kaelle. She is just another cadet trying to survive, just like you.

You’re right, you sigh and rub at your face, I shouldn’t be so mean to her.

“What’s gotten your face so sour?”

You swivel on your feet and press back against your dragon in surprise. So deep in thought you’d barely noticed Liam until he stands a few feet away from you.

His hair is tousled and he has goggle marks along his cheekbones, the sight surprisingly adorable on him as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on one leg, “that wasn’t so bad now was it?” He asks with a grin.

“Tolerable,” you replied, “but completely irrelevant to my life. I could be using my time more productively.”

“You’re training on Dionne, that surely counts for something.”

You hate it when he’s right, and just turn your head away before patting Dionne on his chest, a sign that he may leave.

A few heartbeats later, the wind whips at your hair as your dragon leaps into the sky and you watch his figure for a moment— a dot against the afternoon sun — before heading towards your dormitory.

Liam falls into step beside you, something that he rarely does out in public. Everyone knows that you’re not well acquainted with the marked ones despite forming part of their community. You always kept yourself to your own, never wanting to share whatever experience you had with the others despite the fact that you’d shared the same branded marks. The only one capable of getting anything out of you was probably Imogen, and even she struggled sometimes, guided by the fact that she saw you as a little sister despite everything.

So whatever Liam’s trying to do only causes you to narrow your eyes at him, “what are you doing?”

He shrugs, “walking with you?”

“I don’t need you to walk with me.”

He gasps dramatically and holds a hand to his chest, “You hurt me,” he says, shaking his head, “where are you headed to anyway?”

“My room,” you arrive at the staircase and ascend the tower, your boots clicking along the stone steps. Liam follows with ease, long legs striding alongside yours, “so if you’re done playing shadow with me, you can run back to Riorson and tell him that I won’t murder his precious lady.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Gods. He’s so unshakeable. Your eyes narrow in annoyance, “what?”

If Liam notices your glare, he decidedly ignores it, “why do you hate Xaden?”

A pause. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Silence is your answer. You keep on walking, a ball forming in your throat as the words seep through you like lead.

And then, as if spurred on by his courage, Liam adds in a soft murmur:

“Why do you hate us?”

That makes your throat constrict and suddenly it’s a little too stuffy inside the corridor. You’ve thankfully arrived to your floor and that’s when you turn to lock eyes with those icy blue pupils swimming with open, genuine confusion. As though there’s nothing to hide, as though he’s never been through what you’ve been despite the fact that you know he hurts as much as you do deep down hidden between the grooves of your heart.

Your throat goes a little dry the more you stare up at him in silence. Tension cuts through the air and you swallow thickly.

“I don’t… hate you,” you finally murmur out, a hoarse whisper that speaks volumes, “I never could.”

Liam’s eyes are startlingly blue and pierce through you as he waits in silence for you to go on.

You do, “being with the marked ones, being with the people who know what it feels like to lose everything—that hurts more than anything else,” your teeth find your lower lip and you chew onto it unconsciously. Your hands slide up your arms, holding them to your chest like a shield, “seeing the marked ones just makes me remember. And I don’t want to, I want this part of my past to be gone. I don’t want to think about it, and I don’t want people to know about it. If I—“ you let out a shaky breath then and dipped your head to the ground, “—if I could disappear from Basgiath, I would.”

When Liam speaks next, there’s a gentleness in his tone that you’ve never heard before. It’s soft and coaxing, almost gravelly, “what would you do if you weren’t forced to be a rider?”

No one’s ever asked you that before. You’re left to blink at him, brows furrowed, taking note of how he’s leaning towards you like he actually wants to know.

Not because you’re marked. Not because he has to.

Because he wants to.

Somehow, it stirs something in your chest.

You feel a bit vulnerable. Exposed somehow.

“I’m not sure,” you finally say, “maybe I’d hide in the mountains. Travel. Visit towns. Gods, I certainly would not be trapped here.”

Liam’s features soften with sympathy, “that sounds amazing.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “it does.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The days go by at an alarmingly slow pace, and Liam stays persistent throughout it all. It’s almost like your confession, that little door he’d nudged ajar to step into your innermost personal thoughts had him believe that you were more than just this ice cold wall that no one dared approach.

As the summer turns to autumn and the foliage transforms into beautiful hues of yellow and orange and blazing auburn, you find yourself spending more and more time with the blonde despite your reluctance to do so. He finds you everywhere— during your breakfast duty and sneakingly exchanging places with your partner so that he could keep you company, joining you during your sparring sessions, sitting next to you in battle brief despite your initial scowls and grumbles. He even goes as far as to find you amidst your afternoon jogs around the campus.

At some point, you can’t help but snap at him, “are you following me, Mairi?”

To which he merely raises a brow, “no, I’m just keeping you company.”

You have nothing to say to that, face reddening with embarrassment as you quickly swat away your emotions.

No need for him to figure out that he’s getting under your skin.

A little too easily, you might add.

It’s not like you to let people in so easily. Hell, you’ve been fighting to cut strings the moment you’d gotten painted on with those scars that reminded you of who you were. But Liam, he makes it so easy. One quick smile and a glimpse of the glimmer in his eyes and you find yourself unconsciously drawn to him for god knows what reason.

A little too soon, you find yourself searching for his blue-eyed gaze across the room.

A little too soon, you start to impulsively expect him to be at your side during Battle Brief.

A little too soon, you start to look forward to the conversations exchanged in the dim light of the corridor every night as he accompanies you to your room. It’s become customary, almost natural, that his warmth graces your side, that his familiar baritone echoed through the walls of the dormitory.

The first time your signet manifests, you’re currently in a head-to-head spar with none other than Imogen. She’s currently holding you in a headlock and threatening to tap you out when your skin suddenly flares up, searing in pain.

You scream.

And a moment later, you’re out of her arms.

Imogen blinks, surprise flashing through her face as you turn slowly, wondering what the hell happened.

Her smile is slow as it breaks across her features, “your signet,” she announces, “fucking finally.”

What? Your signet?

Your mind races, shock slamming into you as your eyes widen. But it’s not until you hear Xaden’s voice fill the arena that the realization of it all crashes into you.

“Time-wielder.”

Everyone’s ecstatic. Imogen practically runs you over, picking you up as you’re suddenly crowded in by all your classmates congratulating you on this amazing gift. The professors standing from the far side walk over with proud smiles, and throughout it all you spot Liam’s grin from the other side of the room, his face a pool of genuine happiness that makes your heart race through your chest.

“Time wielder huh?” He says a bit later in the courtyard. He found you sitting in a small patch of sunshine, head tilted up to the sky with an expression so peaceful it jars him for a few seconds.

Your eyes flicker towards him, down to the small wooden sculpture in his hand, before you settle your attention onto the lush landscape spreading beyond, “I still don’t understand how it works.”

“It’s only been two hours,” Liam replies as he shaves off a piece of wood, “it’s already great that you’ve manifested it.”

Sparing him a glance, you wrap your arms around your knees, “how does yours work?”

“Well,” he leans back, shoulder brushing yours as he does so, “I have to focus on the object I want to see up close. If it’s too far, I focus on the closest point I can make out first,” he points a finger towards the sea of orange and brown, “and then it’s like— I force myself through it and suddenly I can see up close, like I’m standing right in front of it.”

He explains it as if it’s that simple. And for him, maybe it is. He seems to have no trouble in seeing past what people project of themselves.

Like he does with you.

Don’t be so hard on him, the shimmer of the bond ripples through your mind. It’s Dionne, making an appearance when he usually keeps to himself most of the time, he means well.

It’s not that easy, your jaw flexes, as do your fingers in your lap, he’s too good for me. Has always been.

“How does Dionne feel about it?” Liam leans over his knees and tilts his head to look at you, his blonde locks catching the afternoon sunlight.

I knew you’d have an incredible signet, Dionne chuffs proudly, it was just a matter of when. Not if.

“He’s … happy.”

That’s not what I said.

You scoff and shake your head, “fine. He’s very proud.”

Better. But not quite.

Liam’s face breaks into a grin, “as he should. Your signet is one that’s never been heard of. You’re going to be written down in history.”

“I’d rather not,” you pull a face, “I don’t fancy being a hero. Not like Riorson,” that’s when you spare him a glance, hating the way your heart squeezes at how beautiful he looks, “not like you.”

“I’m not a hero.”

“But you want to be,” you look away before you do something stupid like brush his hair out of his face, “you’ve always been good. Better than most.”

The blonde cadet says nothing in favor of continuing to sculpt the little object between his hands. He has nice hands, you note. Firm and big, with long fingers that emit strength and quiet confidence.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Your eyes flit towards his face, lock onto his blue pupils.

“I’m not.”

He cocks his head, “you are, though.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Mairi.”

“Why?” His lips tilt up into a smile, eyes crinkling, “am I rubbing off on you?”

“No,” you snort. But you’re smart enough to say nothing else, for there’s a small part of you niggling the back of your mind, telling you that indeed, he is rubbing off on you more than he should.

The next few weeks are filled with sparring, training, and fighting for your life whenever you try to train your signet. Xaden takes charge, pushing you to your limits until you see stars, until your knees slip out from under you and you all but fall back onto the mat, breathless. Slowly, you start to build on small increments of time; you fast-forward five seconds, then ten, then twenty. You’re sweating and boiling hot so that you’re stripped down to a sports bra and shorts, and still Xaden pushes you to try, try harder. Try now to push back in time.

“Up,” Xaden orders when he stands before you, looking just as sweaty as you look, “Now, Kaelle.”

“I—“ you gasp and curl in on yourself, “—I can’t.”

The power is simmering like lava fusing with your skin, burning you from the inside out and threatening to make you scream. Your hands curl into fists and it’s like you’re being scorched alive, the thrum of Dionne’s power so overwhelming that you have the urge to throw up.

Footsteps echo onto the mat before you feel a rough hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Xaden’s brows are furrowed, “you alright?”

You don’t trust yourself to talk for fear that you’ll scream. So you just shake your head no, jaw clenching as another wave of pain sizzles through your abdomen.

“Shit. Wait here.”

You don’t know how long you lie there like a dead weight, eyes half-closed and dazed, before you feel another set of arms wrap around your frame.

You tense instantly, eyes snapping open only to see a pair of familiar azure blue.

Kind. Tender. Your breath halts.

“Hey,” Liam’s voice is a gentle caress, “s’alright. I got you.”

And before you know it, you’re being gathered into his arms and cradled against his chest like a rag doll before he starts striding out of the sparring grounds. Protests make their way up your throat, only to die halfway through when you hear Dionne’s familiar rumble echo through your bond.

Let him help you, child.

So you do despite your brain screaming at you that this— all this is wrong. You fight against every instinct to push him away until he’s pushing his room door open. Like he’s handling gentle porcelain, he places you onto his bed and then proceeds to kneel by your side. Not close, but not far enough that you’d consider him scared of your response.

He ducks his head to look into your eyes, as if surveying your features, “feeling better?”

The simmer is still there, as angry as a coiled string snapping against you, but it’s less prominent if you try to focus on Liam and his scent overwhelming your senses.

As though sensing your thoughts, the said young man disappears into his bathroom for a few moments before walking back with a wet towel. Dropping to his knees once more, he hesitates slightly before pressing it against your nape.

The relief is astounding and a small moan slips past your mouth as you all but lean into his touch. The cold, a stark contrast to the heat sizzling your skin, is a welcome distraction while Liam takes hold of the other end of the towel before placing it over your arm.

He continues his ministrations until finally, finally, you feel like you can breathe again. The fire ceases to a warmth and you sigh as your muscles slowly relax. You don’t realize that you’re practically leaning into his hold until your hand accidentally brushes his arm.

Jumping away like he’s burnt you, you quickly clear your throat and right yourself, look away, “thanks.” You mutter.

His silence answers in his stead. His blue azure searching your features like he can’t quite believe that you’re telling the truth. A small sigh escapes his lips after a moment, and he falls back onto his carpet and uses his arm to lean against his bed.

“What happened?” He asks in a murmur.

“I was training,” you reply, “I think my signet overloaded.”

“And Xaden was okay with that?”

“Like he cares,” you snort, “he’d be glad to get rid of me, if he could—“

“You know that’s not the case, Kaelle,” Liam says gently, “he’s not the best at showing he cares.”

You shrug, eyes finding your lap as your hands knot together. There are questions burning at the back of your throat, questions that you’re not sure you want answers to.

“Why were you there?” You blurt out before you can think about it.

Liam’a blue eyes blink up at you in confusion.

“Did Xaden send for you?” You ask, “when I overloaded, he just— he left. And next thing I knew, you were there. So what did he do? Did he call you?” You take a breath, “do you always clean up after his mess?”

“That’s not why I was there,” Liam replies sharply, “he called for me, because he knew you wouldn’t want him to help you.”

At least he’s right about that. You can only stare at his door in growing annoyance. That’s what is is, isn’t it? Liam isn’t here because he cares. He’s here because Xaden told him to, just like he would for Violet.

Why does that leave such a bitter taste in the back of your tongue? You can barely look at the blonde in the face, not trusting yourself with whatever demons are dancing in your brain.

You get to your feet so abruptly that the blonde cadet lurches in surprise, arms already reaching out for you, “what are you—“

“Don’t.” You hiss at him over your shoulder, “touch me.”

Hurt flashes across his face for a second, before he schools his emotions into nonchalance. Liam steps back, weary and hesitant, as you throw yourself at his door and barge through without a backward glance.

You bolt.

You don’t look right nor left nor behind you.

You just make a run for it, legs pumping with adrenaline as panic and anger and irritation rages through you like a storm. You run and you don’t stop, down the staircase and out into the courtyard, not caring that the wind whips at your clothes and nips your skin with icy bites, not caring that you’re currently barefoot and you can’t feel your toes.

It’s getting harder to ignore the fact that your heart melts at the blonde with the blue eyes that makes your heart skid and skip with cartwheels. You realize it, as you stare up at the moon and watch the shadows in the courtyard dance with the wind tangling in your hair.

You’re letting Liam in, and you’re not sure how to stop it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

As it turns out, you don’t need to dwell too much on your emotional feelings and detours, as life in Basgiath takes priority. Soon, you’re focusing on wielding your signet, understanding where the Wards are failing and which cities are being invaded, while also babysitting Violet Sorrengail at every chance you can. Xaden calls for you and you haven’t heard of Liam ever since your spat with him, your declaration that has created a crevice so deep in your relationship that you’re not sure how to fix it. If you want to fix it.

Part of you is recoiling at the fact that maybe you’ll never be subjected to his kindness again. That you’ve ruined it all.

But the logical part of you is happy about it, glad that there are no expectations, nothing that can hurt you if you push everything away and build stone walls as high as your college itself.

Imogen asks you if you’re okay, a few days before the Reunification Ball, while you spar with each other. You tell her yes, you’re fine, and there’s no need to worry.

But the look in her eyes tell you otherwise; she’s not buying your lie.

Xaden finds you in your room a few hours before the Ball itself, his presence inviting lingering shadows as they dance around the corridor.

“What is it?” You ask as soon as you open the door.

Xaden’s dark brow raises in amusement, “you have a way of greeting people.”

“What is it, Riorson?” You repeat without patience, annoyed that he’s disturbed your peace.

“You don’t seem dressed,” he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway, “why?”

“Dressed to do what?”

“The Reunification Ball.”

“Ah,” you grimace, “I’m not going.”

He stares you down, “you are.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he retrieves a bag from behind his back and dangles it before your face, “I want every Marked one at the Ball. Consider it an order from your Wingleader.”

You don’t take the bag, instead glaring at him, “I’m not going.”

“Like I said, cadet,” his tone grows cold and firm. The tone of a Wingleader. He shoves the bag into your hands, “it’s an order.”

So you have no other choice but to attend.

“I knew you’d make it,” Bodhi says when he sees you storming out of your room, no doubt ordered by Xaden to ensure you’re actually keeping your word with the dress that he made you wear, “Imogen told me you were sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” you don’t fail to notice that it’s not Liam that’s waiting for you today, and the thought unfortunately causes a sting in your heart that you truth to brush off.

But who are you kidding really?

“Sorry, you must be disappointed blondie boy isn’t here today,” Bodhi says like he can actually read your thoughts.

You chortle and kick him in the shins for good measure. He yelps before he throws you a scowl, “ow! Damnit Kaelle was that really necessary?!”

“Yes it was. If it serves to shut your mouth.”

“Gods woman. You’re so brutal,” he moans dramatically, “pretty sure you left a lasting bruise.”

The great Mess Hall where you usually eat your dinner has been scraped clean to give way to beautiful red drapes and arrays of foods, snacks and drinks along the far corner. Riders, Healers and Infantry are all present, a mix of blue and beige and white blending into a mixture of color that for once seems to be in harmony. A stark contrast to the reality that lives behind these walls.

The lights have dimmed and everyone looks more relaxed than usual. You follow Bodhi across the floor, trying not to let the wandering gazes of other people get to you despite the fact that it makes your skin crawl with unease. Soon enough, you spot the squad of Marked ones huddled together like a pack of tuna and can’t help but wonder if that makes it worse; the fact that they’re all clinging to each other in a sign of defiance.

Finding Xaden’s eyes involuntarily amidst the sea of faces that greet you, you can’t help but throw him a scowl. One that he responds with a wicked grin of his own.

“You look gorgeous,” he says to you.

You narrow your eyes at him, “why are you all huddled together like sheep?”

He shrugs, “they feel safer around each other I suppose,” and then throws his hands up in mock surrender, “I don’t know. I don’t make the rules.”

You can’t help but chortle because he does, actually, make the rules. He’s practically the king of all these ministrations happening under Basgiath’s nose.

It’s almost impulsive, the way your eyes do a quick scan of the area as if searching. No, you’re not actually searching, but you find him anyway; the blonde hair and the blue eyes and— gods, that dimple.

His gaze collides with yours and you wrench yourself away. Heat permeates your skin, embarrassment flushing through you as you look at everything, anything, to make it go away. To make your heart stop galloping like a wild horse.

Fuck. He’s seen you, hasn’t he?

You’re so filled with your own self-loathing that you barely take note of the little push that makes you stumble.

You frown, look down at you feet.

And see shadows. It should be normal. It is normal.

But then you feel it again, the way they tug you, push you slightly, causing you to stumble slightly.

Whipping your head into Xaden’s direction, you’re rewarded with his dark gaze glittering with mischief, as if he knows damn well what he’s doing, even lifting a brow as if to ask; go on. Go to him.

Xaden’s shadows are insistent as they push you further towards Liam and you’re cursing under your breath until you’re just a few paces away from the him. He’s beautiful tonight; hair slicked back and away from his face, tall broad frame filling out in a black suit that seems to hug his silhouette. It almost makes your mouth water.

He spots you before you can do anything — like run for your life— and dips his head into a nod.

“Hey,” your voice comes out small.

“Hey,” he answers.

It’s wary, guarded even.

“I—“ the words feel like sandpaper along your tongue, your eyes drop to a point on his chest, “I’m sorry.”

He blinks, then turns towards you, “for what?”

“For what I said,” you shift from one foot to the other, “for how I am.”

He’s quiet and you think that maybe he doesn’t want to divulge, so you opt for silence as well, taking this time to watch the couples on the dance floor and laughing like there’s no tomorrow.

You don’t know how this kind of happiness feels like. You wish you did. But somehow, it seems always out of your reach.

But then a small nudge along your arm makes your head turn to see Liam, who tilts his head towards the said couples.

“Wanna dance?”

Your first response is to make a run for it. As it is, your legs are itching to turn the other way and break into a sprint. But another small nudge from Xaden’s shadow — the one curling around the arch of your foot — has you stumbling straight into Liam’s chest.

His face breaks into a dimpled grin and before you know it he’s grasped your elbow and tugged you to the dance floor.

The first thing you take notice of is that he’s warm. Warmer than you’d expected. You don’t know where to put your hands, panic taking over as your palms hover over him. But that’s before he clasps one of your wrists to place it along his shoulder before his other hand grips the remaining one so that he can draw you to him.

There’s a small smile dangling along his lips as he leads you onto the floor, “you’re looking a little green, Cadet Loo.”

“I’m fine,” you retort, your hand automatically flexing along his shoulder.

The silence reigns for a while as he sways you to the music. For a minute, it's almost peaceful, almost relaxing. His scent, it's everywhere, wrapping you in a soft cocoon of warmth; a mixture of sandalwood and fresh laundry sheets and something else, something spicier that just defines Liam in general.

But when Liam speaks next, there is a weight to his words.

"It's not easy to trust people," his azure blue pierce through your dark maroon. It's like he can see right past you, right past the facade you've built for people to fear and cower. But not him. Never him, "especially when you've been let down your entire life."

Your eyebrow quirks up in curiosity. Where is he going with this?

"You asked whether I clean up all of Xaden's messes," he continues and you swear you can taste the bitterness in his voice. He twirls you around before clasping your waist back to his chest, "there's one thing I'd like you to understand, and that is that I owe Xaden my life."

Of course, your initial response is to ask why. But you decide to opt for silence as an indication for him to go on.

"When he asked me to look after Violet, I had no choice," Liam continues in a softer tone, "but that day, after he sparred with you, was not his mess that I needed to clean."

Oh, so that's what he's getting at. He's still not over the horrible things you'd spewed about him that particular night and wants to set things straight.

You were quite harsh on him that night, adds Dionne at the other end of your bond.

You don't bother replying. She's right, no argument there.

Part of you wants to run away, make a dash for it when he's not looking. But you can't, not when his blue eyes are piercing yours with an intensity that makes you want to squirm.

"I helped you, because I wanted to," Liam hesitates for a beat, bites onto his lower lip, "because I cared enough to worry about whether you were burning yourself out."

You blink.

"Maybe that wasn't what you needed," he makes a turn and you follow, dress billowing as you do so, "and I overstepped. I'm sorry, Kaelle."

You blink again.

This time, confusion springs through your mind. What is he on about?

"Why are you apologising?" you blurt out.

Liam looks at you in surprise, lips parting, "well uh--like I said, I overstepped when I shouldn't."

"No," you snap, suddenly annoyed by how kind he can be. How stupid. This kind of gentleness will never get him anywhere at this rate, "no. You shouldn't apologise. I'm the one that should, and I did. Let's leave it at that."

"Why are you mad then?"

"You're apologising when you did nothing wrong," you scowl at him, "kindness does not get you far, not at Basgiath."

"I wasn't just being kind," Liam lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, "gods, you don't get it, do you?"

"What?"

"That I--" he presses his lips together and for a minute, all you can do is stare up at him with narrowed eyes.

`'You know what? Never mind," he sidesteps to the right, just about avoiding another couple before he twirls you around one more time, "you look beautiful, by the way."

His sudden compliment causes your cheeks to blaze, "thanks," you choke out.

You're more than glad to escape his arms when a group of Marked ones make their way over, looking drunk over their heads and high up their arses. Making quick work of slipping out through the throng of cadets and upper years, you don't hesitate to grab your skirts before making your way out of the Mess Hall, into the courtyard. The breeze is a cool, gentle caress against your cheeks and you all but collapse against one of the big, marble columns lining the main staircase that leads to the courtyard.

The moon is high up in the sky, and there's no doubt that there's a splatter of stars streaking through the night if you tilt your head up to search for them.

That's when you notice Xaden, lingering by the staircase leading towards the First Year's Wing. He leans casually against the wall looking deep in thought, not even bothering to glance up as you approach.

"Bold you of you," your voice carries over through the wind, "to let your shadows manipulate me like that."

His dark gaze finds yours for a heartbeat, before he re-focuses his attention on the darkness beyond, "you needed a little push. All I did was give you that."

"I don't need your help, Wingleader."

He sighs, "you're so stubborn."

"Thanks, I got it from my Wingleader."

Xaden finally cracks a smile before he looks at you, "so there is something that makes Cadet Loo's heart soft."

You almost choke on your own spit, "I'm sorry--what?"

"I'm not blind Kaelle," he shifts from one foot to the other, "why are you so insistent on shutting him out?"

You know without the shadow of a doubt that he's referring to Liam. His sweet, dimpled smile flashes through your mind and your heart tugs at the ache it brings.

So you decide to turn this on him, "why are you insistent on keeping your distance from Cadet Sorrengail?"

Xaden tenses, "that's out of your rank, cadet."

"I don't think so, not if we're going to talk about my love life," you can't help but smirk, "so? are you going to answer my question?"

"Not if you don't answer mine."

Hm. He has a point and your ego doesn't want to be trampled on. You lift your chin up in defiance, "fine. An answer for an answer."

"Fine." his dark eyes glimmer with amusement, "do you like Mairi?"

Gods. Isn't he a little too blunt? "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying--"

"Fine. I was asking the wrong question," his lips curl up at the edges, "do you think Mairi likes you?"

"I--no."

"No?" he cocks his head.

"I don't know. I don't care," your scowl deepens, "why don't you ask him if you want to know so badly?"

"Just do us a favour and stop denying it, cadet," Xaden says with a sigh, "It's starting to get really frustrating watching you two rotate around each other but never fucking taking risks."

"It's my turn now," you remind him, "do you like Cadet Sorrengail?"

His nostrils flares, but he does reply, "I believe I do."

You blink at him, not having expected him to be so brutally honest with you, not when it comes to feelings, "oh."

"You'll keep this quiet if you know what's good for you."

"Yeah yeah I got it," you shoot him a look, "I'm not a tattle tale, in case you couldn't tell."

It's not Xaden's sudden confession that has you tossing and turning all night, but rather the admission that maybe Liam might have feelings for you. You're not sure how you feel about it; on one hand you don't want to have anything to do with him when there are so many other things to care about; like Xaden's rebellion and the Squad Battles and trying not to die every single day you make it to tomorrow. But on the other hand, another part of you is screaming at yourself, running around in circles, trying to find deeper meaning into any of your interactions. That part of you wants to revel in Liam's attention, wants to know what it feels like be loved for who you are, for what you are.

Why does he torment you so? asks Dionne through the bond link a few days later as you make your way to Battle Brief, her energy thrumming like a vibrant white light in the back of your lids.

I don't know, you tell her truthfully, it's not like I want to. He's just--always there. He haunts me.

Maybe the Wingleader is right, she says, maybe you do have feelings for the Mairi boy.

Having feelings in the Rider's Quadrant will only serve as a weakness.

Having feelings for someone is not something you can control, Dionne replies flatly.

"Hey Kaelle," Bodhi says as you enter the Battle Brief room. He is seated up int he furthest corner he could find, stowed away like a shadow along with Garrick and a few other Marked ones. You can't help but roll your eyes at how cliquey they're being, and stroll on to find an empty seat only to spot Imogen waving at you and motioning towards one beside her.

Quickly slipping through the aisles of disgruntled cadets, you make your way towards the pink-haired second year when you spot none other than Violet Sorrengail and-- low and behold, Liam.

You haven't spoken to him since that night at the ball. And Xaden's words just keep replaying in your brain, making you unable to act as you would around the blonde.

The sight of him and Violet sitting together has your stomach churning with a queasy sensation.

"Morning Kaelle," chirps Violet.

"Morning," Liam's eyes are bright as they find your face.

You nod, mutter out a "good morning" and turn towards the front before they can continue on with conversation.

That's how your day goes, with you trying (and failing) to ignore Liam so that you don't do anything you'd regret in the long run. You stick by Imogen's side throughout the rest of the classes and despite being stuck in the same squad, quickly find another sparring partner so that he doesn't have the chance to even ask you. But if Liam notices of your reticence, he doesn't show it. He still comes and finds you during your afternoon run, still talks to you about his day as he carves into his dragon figurines like you're not blatantly answering in monosyllables, still manages to find you amidst a sea of riders during dinnertime, though it's not that hard, considering the Marked ones (namely Bodhi, Garrick and Imogen) seem to suddenly have an interest in sticking by your side at all costs.

You're still training your signet at every chance you can get, practicing on Xaden and increasing the number of times you can wield as the weeks go by. It's a routine that you've set for yourself, along with your Wingleader, to ensure that you're up to speed about defending yourself. So imagine your shock when you turn up one early Thursday morning to discover that Xaden's gone-- apparently on a mission outside of Basgiath -- and that in his place is a half-awake Liam Mairi looking like he'd just rolled out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" shock lines your tone.

"Here to train you."

"Why you though?" it could be anyone. Imogen, Bodhi, Garrick...all of them flash through your mind, until you come to the realisation that Xaden has done this on purpose.

The little shit.

You're so going to get him and Violet into the most fucking embarrassing situation and we'll see who will be laughing then.

Oooh a sabotage plan, Dionne purrs from the bond, I like the way you think.

He deserves it after everything he makes me go through, you reply with gritted teeth.

Liam merely raises a brow in amusement. He crosses his arms, "am I not good enough for you, Cadet Loo?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then I see no issue," amusement glitters in his blue-eyed gaze, "shall we?"

Turns out, Liam is a great opponent.

He fights with the quiet confidence that Xaden has, but is so much more precise in his moves, Rather than raw power that Xaden uses, Liam is careful, deft, his movements calculated with intention. And he adapts as easily as water, dodging and swiftly evading before you can reach him. You get a few punches in though, with the use of your signet, but one wrong turn and Liam's punch sends you flying to the other end of the mat.

You scramble up as fast as you can, but his arms grab your elbows and he all but tumbles you over onto your back, one knee between your thighs and his weight pressing down onto your chest until you let out a quiet gasp.

"Good effort, Loo.” he murmurs. With him on top of you so scandalously, you can't help but feel every inch of his firm build pressed against your curves, a temptation that causes heat to build in your lower stomach.

It worsens with butterflies when you feel his nose brush against yours.

Your mouth parts.

You blink up at him. His breath mingles with yours.

His eyes are a darker shade of blue in the dim lights of the sparring gym. But they darken even more when he holds your gaze.

There's something there. Too much emotion. The kind that makes your chest ache. The kind that makes you forget to breathe.

Oh.

He's so close.

"Let me go," you wish for the words to come out strong. Confident. Instead, they sound just like a restrained whimper.

Liam is still searching your face, as if dazed by the sudden proximity between your two bodies.

Too close.

You shove him without warning and with a cry, he topples onto his back as you straddle his hips this time, hands pinning down his arms with a victorious smirk.

"Not so cocky now, are we?" you murmur out, hating the way your heart sputters upon taking note of his dimple when he cracks a grin up at you, "hate to admit it but," he shakes his head, "you fight good."

You retreat and help him up to his feet before you're finding your water bottles for a little break. God knows you need it when all you can feel is the residual heat in your cheeks from being so close to the said blonde.

A distraction, surely.

"How are you feeling about the Squad Battle?"

Liam's question causes your eyes to flit towards him. You shrug, "I'm not too worried, to be honest."

"Confident," he quips.

"I’m being realistic," you lean back against the bleachers, "we’ve been training for this ever since parapet. There’s no reason we’ll lose.”

“You were pretty badass on the Gauntlet.”

“Yeah,” that reminds you of the cadets who didn’t. The ones whose lives were cut short as soon as their grip had slipped.

Your fingers unconsciously tighten on your bottle. It can be you, or it can be Liam at any point in time. The thought makes your stomach curl and you’re surprised by your own reaction.

“How’s Sorrengail holding up?” You ask him then, sparing him a glance.

He looks at you in surprise, “she’s good. If you don’t count the amount of times she gets her ass kicked on Mat.”

“I think everyone gets their asses handed to them on mat at some point.”

“Not me.”

You roll your eyes at his confidence, but a small smile tugs at your lips nevertheless, “confident.”

But he is right. Liam is one of the best fighters of your year and you haven’t seen him falter, not once.

“How’d you fight so good?” You can’t hell but ask.

He shifts forward until his shoulder brushes yours. The warmth sends ripples down your spine, “the Orphanage I was placed in after our parents…they didn’t like having weaknesses. I was trained from very early on.”

“Makes sense. My foster parents wanted me to sit still and be pretty so that I could marry as quickly as possible.”

Liam looks at you grimly, “that must’ve been pretty tough.”

“Tell me about it,” you take another gulp of your water, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “they just wanted money and status so that they could live their lives without having to lift a finger and I—“ your throat tightens, memories of their faces, of the disappointment and guilt washing over you, “—I thought they loved me.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Kaelle.” Liam whispers hoarsely, “that’s— that’s sick.”

You stay quiet. There are so many other things they did to you— that they let other men try to do to you— but you don’t want to speak the words aloud, for fear that they’ll haunt you in your sleep.

A warmth brushes against the back of your hand. It’s Liam’s. Gentle, light. Almost tentative. A sign of comfort. One that you’d usually shove away with all your might.

But you don’t.

Instead, you watch the way his knuckles brush against yours in a way that makes your heart sputter, causing you to bite your lip and look away as a horde of butterflies threaten to explode along your ribs.

This softness, it’s not something you’re used to.

“Hey,” his words are tender, practically a whispered breath, "you okay?"

"I'm fine."

His eyes are on you. You can feel it without looking at him, probing you, searching for answers in your features.

Your chest feels tight with secrets practically bursting along your tongue and suddenly, you blurt out without thinking, "I still trusted them, despite everything. I thought that maybe if I listened to what they said, if I did whatever they told me to do, no matter how scared or angry I was, maybe--" tears burn at the corner of your eyes and you look away, hating that Liam is seeing that side of you. Loathing that you can't even hold yourself together, "--maybe they would love me like I'm one of theirs."

Liam hooks a finger around your thumb, slowly sliding along your palm until his hand engulfs yours.

The act is too intimate, he's too close for you.

And yet, you can't seem to find the energy to pull away.

You stay there for a while, fingers interlaced as you listen to the slow hum of the generators a the back of the training room. The blonde's thumb has slowly started tracing soft patterns over your outer knuckles, an act that leaves tantalising heat spreading up through your arm, permeating the back of your neck.

You swallow thickly. Your eyes flit towards your conjoined hands. They dart back up to his face, quickly averting towards the floor when you notice he's been gazing at you all along.

You swear you feel a smile spread across Liam's face when he asks, "what?"

"Nothing," you mutter. You don't have to look at yourself to know you're blushing. The heat is practically rolling off your cheeks at this point.

You hear him chuckle before he tugs you towards him.

“Hey,” crystal blue eyes search yours with the kind of open vulnerability that triggers your heartstrings, “no one can hurt you here.”

“I know that.”

His lips press into a thin line, “your face says otherwise.”

“I—“ you suck in a breath, your voice trailing off into a broken murmur, “I can’t help it. The things that I endured… their voices haunt me. It almost feels—“ you bite your lip, “— like they’re still here.”

A warm hand comes up to cradle your face and you yelp, flinching back on instinct as panic soars through your chest.

Liam’s hand falls away, “sorry,” he lifts the limb up in mock surrender, guilt etched in his features, “sorry I—not the face. Got it.”

“Sorry,” you mutter out.

“Don’t apologize,” his other hand distracts you with his soft touch, probably the only piece of you that you’ll give him for today, “you can talk to me, yeah? If things get hard?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it,” his gaze locks on yours, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t answer, but you’d be lying to yourself if that doesn’t make your heart hurt in all the best of ways.

You pray that Malek doesn’t take Liam’s soul that night.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It starts off really slow, at first.

It’s so slow that you barely notice it, the tiniest shifts of skin against skin. The tiniest movements ebbing with warmth with every step that Liam takes towards you.

If you were anyone else, you’d probably say that’s as romantic as you can get.

“He likes you,” signs Jesinia for what seems to be the hundredth time this past hour as you all but deny her words. You’re currently hiding away in the library so that you don’t have to think about the upcoming War Games. It’s a surprise that you even made it through the Squad Battle, though knowing that Liam’s Squad had won does send bitterness down your throat. Their squad is the strongest after all, one that you’re pretty certain you won’t beat no matter what.

You try not to focus on the fact that you lost three of your teammates during this mission.

“He’s just being nice,” you sign back upon realizing that she’s been waiting for your response. You lean against the cream colored couch with a sigh, forcing away thoughts of Liam from your brain.

“That’s not just being nice. He actually likes you, it’s written all over his face,” Jesinia responds.

“Shut up Jesinia.”

“Rude,” she sticks out her tongue, “tell me when you guys kiss though.”

Your face flames, “not funny!”

In truth, he has been paying a lot more attention to you ever since that night in the training gym. Not quite touching you, but definitely finding your hand whenever he deems it possible.

During Battle Brief for instance, where he’d slide his palm over until he engulfed your hand under the table, not letting go despite you going red, despite you trying your best to tug your hand away.

“What are you doing?!” You’d hiss at him with narrowed eyes.

“Hm?” He’d hummed, hiding his smile into his other palm as gentle blue eyes would finds yours with so much emotion you’d feel your chest tighten and look away.

Or during sparring sessions, where his touch would linger longer than necessary; hand finding the back of your spine to pull you up, arm circling around your waist when your legs gave out, tugging you so hard you tripped right into his chest in a blushing mess that made you want to combust on the spot because— really? You could survive Threshing, you managed to survive Squad Battle and yet, this was what could be the death of you? Really?

You’d spent so long running away from people, outrunning the past that would still haunt your dreams and the touches that would send your mind reeling with disgust, that you’ve forgotten how it feels like for someone to touch you for reasons other than to hurt you. It’s more than a little foreign, but Liam does it so easily, worming his way into your heart without you knowing, like sunlight reaching for your skin before you have time to process how good it feels, how alive it makes you feel.

It’s on a late evening as you’re walking back to your dorm that things start to change. The walk is innocent enough, casually exchanging conversation as you ignore the way your shoulders brush, the way your hands drift towards each other’s. But you’re not surprised— not anymore — when his hand finds yours in a firm, comforting grip.

“How does it feel,” you’re asking him, trying not to sigh in bliss at how good it feels to have his thumb brushing your knuckles, or how stupidly pathetic you feel for being putty into his hands, “to have won the Squad Battle?”

“Honestly?” His brow furrows, “I was a bit worried.”

Your expression matches his, “hm?”

“I was worried about you,” his admission is soft, barely audible amidst the soft croon of trees and foliage dancing in the wind.

You stop in your tracks, “no,” you look at him dead in the face, “no. You don’t get to do that.”

“What?”

“You—“ you shake your head, “you don’t get to worry about me. That was not our deal—“

“And what, exactly, is our deal?” He asks softly, pulling you to him to decrease the distance.

“I…” but you’re distracted because he’s so close so suddenly. You have no choice but to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, “I’m not quite sure… I follow.”

Liam’s gaze searches your features, assessing, still treading unfamiliar waters. It’s hard to keep logic and reason above the sudden roaring of emotions taking hold of you and all you want to do is wrench yourself out of this predicament as quickly as possible because dear god you feel like you’re losing control of all your senses.

When Liam speaks next, his voice has dropped an octave and you feel it vibrating through your very bones.

“You can berate me all you want about worrying. But I can’t help it,” he lowers his face to yours. Your breath hitches, “you make it impossible not to worry about you.”

Surprise slams into you, “what—are you saying?”

Instead of answering, the blonde tugs at your hands and pulls it up so that you can see it, “does that—“ he squeezes your palm softly, “—mean anything to you?”

Heat swathes the back of your neck and you lower your eyes, “I—I don’t know. You tell me what you’ve been doing with me all this time.”

Liam chuckles, the sound so deep it rumbles through his chest like a storm, “gods, Kaelle. You are dense for someone so smart.”

“Excuse me?! That’s—“

He gives you no time. Pulls you so that you crash into him and wraps his arms around your waist before you have a clue about what’s happening.

Before you know it, he’s gotten you engulfed in a hug, his cheek pressed against the side of your head as he pushes yours into his chest, tucked underneath his chin like he believes he needs to protect you.

Alarms go off in your brain. Your body tenses, as if on alert, but his voice is soft as it echoes through your ear: “relax for me?”

It takes some huge effort from your part.

Like flight or fight reaction, you’re at odds with your brain.

But you do, after a few beats of hesitation. It’s not easy, and you have to keep reminding yourself that this isn’t at all like your past, that Liam is not anything like your parents, that this— whatever this is— is made out of warmth and comfort and love.

Things change after that night.

There’s a shift in the air, like a new door has been opened. But soon you find Liam a little bolder with his touches, and dare you say, you actually don’t mind it.

He keeps things private whenever there are eyes around; finding your hand under tables and pressing his knee against yours as a gesture of comfort, leaning his shoulder into yours as he listens in on Battle Brief, and merely resorting to ruffling your hair during your banters.

But it’s the small acts of tenderness that he does whenever you guys are found alone; pulling you to him behind trees only to hug you, his knuckles drifting along your cheekbones whenever you had dirt, blood or mud along your face, leaning over you from behind when you sit at your desk with piles and piles of homework, adding on his comments and guiding you through material you don’t quite understand all while you feel his breath brush the side of your head, the heat of his chest permeating your back. The sight is surprisingly too attractive and you’re always reduced to a blushing mess afterwards, hating how your face gives you away so easily.

“Are you guys dating?” Imogen asks you suddenly after Battle Brief one day and you almost lose it, dropping all your pens and papers in shock.

You gape at her with stuttered heartbeats, “I—No—it’s nothing like th—“

“Oh save the excuses,” Imogen throws you an exasperated look, “do me a favour instead and just hook up with the guy.”

“What the fuck Imogen!” You splutter in embarrassment.

“She is telling the truth,” Garrick says from your other side, a surprising appearance considering he’s always shadowing Xaden for stuff. God knows what, you don’t want to know, “his balls are probably blue at this point, and it’s definitely not because of winter.”

Your face flames at his joke, heart practically falling out of your chest at his insinuations. You and Liam? No way. You can’t imagine a world where that’s a possibility.

You’re too unstable. Volatile. Liam is… everything that you’re not. And you cannot fathom a future where that might be possible.

Because you’re used to ruining things. That’s what you’ve done your whole life.

Nevertheless, their words stick to you like caramel and you're unable to shake them off no matter how hard you try. So that's how you corner the said blonde cadet a few days later as he's leaving for the flight field.

"Kaelle?" His brow raises in question before his face breaks into a dimpled grin, "need anything?"

"I--" you flex your hands, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto your pants for something steady to hold, "Can I ask you something?"

He placed his flight goggles on his head and tugs it down onto his neck, looking more and more confused, "sure?"

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Liam practically chokes on his own spit, "wha--I'm--sorry?" He splutters out as his face turns bright, beetroot red, flushing all the way up to his ears.

"Do you--" you're blushing too, you can feel the heat sizzling off you, "do you want to fuck me?"

"That's--" he keeps on shaking his head and looks at you in a mixture of shock, surprise and horror, "where--what are you talking about?"

"Just answer my question, Mairi."

You're glad that your voice, at least, doesn't give away the fact that this is probably the most embarrassing thing you could've ever done to yourself.

"I--" he presses his lips into a thin line, "I would be lying if I said no."

Heat spreads across your stomach, dips down into your lower belly, "why?" you croak out.

"What--" Liam looks like he's about to make a run for it, eyes flickering back and forth between you and the flight field a few meters beyond, "what do you mean--why? I--Yes, I mean--No, that's not the sole reason why I'm talking to you but--"

"But?"

"But if you ask me this, like that, then..." his jaw flexes, "Yes. Yes I would."

"I asked you why," you replied, "are you a player? Are you bored? Is this normal in the rider's quadrant, to be hooking up with everyone you want?" A pause, as realization dawns, "is this why you've been all--touchy with me? Holding my hand and shit?"

"Gods no," He looks absolutely mortified, "hey, that's not why I'm--"

"Then why are you being so--so--" you can't find the words, motioning at the air instead in hopes that he'd understand.

"I--" but you hear the sound of the Flight Commandant's voice starting roll call in the distance and you know now is not the time for answers.

Liam grasps your shoulder and tugs you closer, "listen, I'm sorry. I gotta go," he throws you an apologetic look, squeezing your shoulder blade, "but I'll answer all your questions tonight. I promise."

You gaze into his bright blue eyes, "You mean that?"

"Promise," and before you know it he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss along your temple before he's jogging off and sprinting for his life, leaving you and your heart racing like you've just ran a marathon or flew over the gauntlet thrice without stopping.

He finds you in your room that night.

A knock resounds off your door and you turn, book still in hand and currently buried in piles of homework, to find Liam -- all washed up, hair still sticking out and dripping from his shower, in soft cotton pants and t-shirt with a towel slung around his shoulders.

In the dim amber light of your room, he looks softer. Bathed in a golden halo that stirs something in your heart.

"Hi," he murmurs, clear his throat, "can I come in?"

You nod silently and he takes a step inside, closing your door in the process with a firm push. You close up your book and put your pens away as he strides over to the bed, glancing at you with hesitation as he allows himself to sit by the edge.

He still has those darned eye goggle marks along his face and your hands ache to touch them, run over his skin and his freckles and count how many he has.

But you don’t. You curl your hands into your lap, wrapping them around your knees to keep yourself sane, "how was Flight Field?"

"Tough,” he ruffles the back of his head with his towel, “never gets easier. But Deigh is a lot more cooperative than most.”

“Which means?”

“He catches me when I fall,” he shakes his head, “some dragons are not as merciful."

That is quite cruel. Horrible, almost inhuman. But then again, dragons aren't like humans. They don't live by the same rules, the same way human society is built.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you wonder about a life far, far away from all this.

"So," Liam leans his elbows onto his knees before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, a look of masked indifference on his face. Despite that, you still catch the wariness, the unease in his eyes. They speak more truths than anything you've ever said this year.

"What was that all about earlier?" his question is a soft murmur. Probing. Not quite aggressive. But firm, not quite soft either.

He wants to know. He has questions. Questions that only you can answer.

You shift, wary about his closeness. He can engulf the space, swallow it whole in a heartbeat if he wants to. But still, Liam sits on the edge. Waiting, patient. Always so patient.

Your heart twists painfully in your chest.

"I don't do hook ups," you start off slow, trying to gage his reaction through each word that spills from your lips, "I don't like meaningless sex. I've never done it. But people have, and people talk. Imogen and Garrick," you lift your chin, eyes meeting his, "they think we should hook up."

"Do you?"

You blink at him. Your lips part, "I--" you look away, towards your hands. Anything to get away from these stormy aquamarine pools that makes your insides simmer with heat, "I don't know. Is that what you're looking for?"

"No," he responds almost immediately. His voice is clear, like he knows exactly what he's saying. What he wants, "I'm not doing this for the sex."

Your mouth presses in a tight line, "hm.”

“I’m not playing with you,” he continues, turning fully so that he can lock gazes with you, “and I definitely don’t do meaningless sex.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

He blinks, “doing what?”

“This," you motion towards the air, "the hand-holding, the fact that you're always so close within touching distance, hugging me when you think no one's looking and earlier--" the thought of his lips against your forehead has you seeing fireworks for a split second, "--why?"

He takes his time, letting the weight of your words settle across the room like a blanket. It should've been jarring and annoying, that he's not quick to deflect your words with a response all because he's seeing you all riled up and worked over something that people might've thought to be trivial in another context.

No.

He just shifts closer until his knee brushes yours. His lips part into a silent breath before he dips his head down to hold eye contact with you, one hand sliding up slowly -- so as not to shock you -- to cup the back of your elbow in a hold that makes you feel like you're something precious, something akin to a baby.

When he speaks next, you swear your heart does a 180-flip.

"Because I like you."

You stare.

And stare.

And would've kept staring, if not for Liam's sudden little chuckle that has you snapping back to reality and shutting your mouth just in case you drool.

"What--" you swear your ears are ringing with the aftermath of this literal verbal bomb, "--what did you say?"

"I like you," he repeats it as clear as day and your heart does another flop around on its other side, "actually," his thumb brushes over your elbow as he murmurs out, "I might love you."

"Shut up, Mairi," your voice is shaky as you tug your hand away, "you don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes dance with emotion in the dim light of the room, golden flecks in his hair where the light bounces off, "I'm simply answering your question."

"But--" your face flames red with embarrassment, "you cannot say things like that."

People don't just say these words. They have to mean them, and you haven't lived long enough for someone to actually say these aloud to you. Not your foster parents, not any of your friends, definitely not anyone you'd met on Basgiath grounds.

"Why not?" Liam murmurs.

"Because this isn't a game. It's not a joke. I might be dead tomorrow, you might be," you snap, "this isn't the time to be talking about feelings and--"

"Kaelle, does it ever occur to you that I don't give a fuck about whether we'll live or die tomorrow?" he cuts you off.

You blink, "what?"

Liam shifts so that he's pressing even closer and the reduced distance between his face and yours has your tummy twisting so hard it makes you press your lips together, "you asked me why I hold your hand," his hand trails down as if on cue to tangle his fingers through yours in his lap, "why I hug you, why I'm being like this. The truth is, I'm doing it because I can't help myself," he lets out a slow, ragged breath, "and I'm not looking for anything from you. I promise."

The look you give him is filled with so much doubt that he laughs half-heartedly and leans back to flick your forehead.

"I mean it," his voice is a soft murmur. Impulsively, his hand goes up to brush against your cheekbone, "I don't need anything else, I'm not expecting anything else. Just--gods, don't push me away."

He's so sweet it's sickening. And yet, the butterflies in your stomach are telling you otherwise, practically bubbling up with the kind of heat that drizzles right down to your lower belly and flushes you straight up through your neck.

Liam doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to.

He tugs at your arm. Softly, gently, so as not to startle you, until you're being pulled into his lap. Your lips bubble up with a protest, only for the words to die on your tongue the moment his arms come around your middle to anchor you to his chest.

With one swift move, the blonde swivels you round so that he's the one resting against your headboard, you on him, practically cushioned in his lap like a child.

You blink, cheeks fiery with embarrassment as you attempt a frown, "what in the world are you doing?!" you snap at him, though your words don't hold much bite.

Or, well...they do. But Liam has long since been able to read between the lines with you.

He just grins, dimples flashing. Your heart stutters and before you know it he's got his face buried in the crook of your neck.

He nuzzles into the crevice of your collarbone, sighing like this is exactly what he needs to calm him down.

"Mairi," you poke at his arm. Still rigid, still tense. Is he--is he going to stay this way? "Mairi."

You groan and attempt to squirm, "Liam?"

He hums. His nose moves up, nuzzling your ear, "can we stay like this?"

"I--"

"Please."

It's the way he says it that has your heart caving in like a fucking damsel in distress and you really want to pull out your hair at this very moment.

But you cannot deny him. And he senses it, for he merely pulls you even closer until your bodies are meshed together in one single, solid piece.

And that's when he says, "relax for me."

You doze off into his arms that night, for once your knife forgotten along your bedspread.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: Part 2 will be up as soon as I'm done with it, but here's what I have so far. I was supposed to publish it earlier but honestly I got stuck halfway through because I just want to do a good job writing and fleshing out Kaelle and Liam's characters TT3TT

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mae-gi-writes · 1 month ago

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someone on tiktok said during threshing ridoc was wandering around screaming marco and aotrom finally replied polo and thats how they bonded and im CACKLING

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mae-gi-writes · 2 months ago

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that’s fourth wing fanfic was amazing please write more i love the way you create worlds LITERALLY SOO GOOD like a fic for any of the fourth wing characters would literally be good ❤️❤️❤️

ahh thank you so much!! I'm really glad to hear you liked it TT3TT I'm definitely gonna write some more Fourth Wing fanfics with their own characters. They're all so loveable so I'm having a hard time choosing haha

#precious anons #thank you #fourth wing

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mae-gi-writes · 2 months ago

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for the love of dragons . t. scamander (fourth wing)

You've been crushing on your friend Ren for years, that you barely have time to think about other boys. One of them is Theseus Scamander.

Fourth Wing meets Fantastic Beasts. For those who don’t know, Fourth Wing is a story about dragon riders.

———

“You should tell him.”

Your head dropped into your arms with a sigh. It was the last class of the day and your brain was fried from constantly having to rush around and cram all kinds of information from various subjects. But it had been a good distraction from the echoing pain in your heart every time you thought of a certain someone.

“It’s too late,” you grumbled against your elbow, “he’s happy. I don’t want to ruin it for him.”

“Y/N, you’re going to regret it if you don’t tell him,” your friend, Kiki, said with a seriousness that made you shiver. You clasped your hands tighter around your frame in response, eyes cutting over to the familiar mop of brown hair that you knew off by heart even with your eyes closed.

“There’s nothing I can do,” you replied with a resigned sigh, “let him be, if he’s happy. Anyway, who knows whether I’ll be alive until graduation?”

“You will.”

“Shut up.” You snapped at your dragon, glad that you were the only one that could hear him. Each dragon rider cadet had to go through a test called Threshing, whereby Dragons would come and choose their rider. That, or kill them. You considered yourself lucky that not one of them wished to burn you alive. It was a good start.

Your dragon was a glittering turquoise in the sky, with eyes so red that you cowered back the first time you saw them up close. His name was Egir and while he wasn’t the strongest or the biggest of dragons in the entire Cadet form, you didn’t mind it in the least. On the contrary, he was small but aggressive, lean but quick in his movements, like lightning reincarnated.

“I don’t understand why you like this stupid human cadet. You humans are weird.”

“No one asked for your opinion, big boy.”

“I don’t think I need to ask for your permission, human.”

“Don’t you have goats to chase, by any chance?”

“I’ve happily fed on my portion this morning. Any more and I might throw up,” he huffs.

But not even Egir’s distraction was enough to lighten your spirits. Your mood dropped even lower when you made it to the flight field and spotted him by his own dragon, a beautiful maroon with silver eyes, as he conversed with one of the guys from your Squad.

He turned upon noticing your figure lingering at the edge of his vision, “Y/N,” his lips tugged into a smile, “you okay? You’re looking a bit green in the face.”

“Hey Ren,” you tried for a smile, though you were certain it came out more like a grimace, “I’m fine, just worried about today’s flight.”

“You just gotta hold on a little tighter. Maybe muscle up those legs of yours,” he grinned teasingly, “you free later? Maybe we could spar a little.”

“That won’t be necessary,” another voice swooped in, deep and rough like chocolate, with a twinge of a British accent that sent your nerves rattling every single time.

You turned just in time to spot your Squad Leader striding past you, his black uniform looking devastatingly handsome on his tall figure and if you hadn't known better, you would've drooled at the sight. Because Theseus Scamander was far from someone you could ignore, even if you wanted to.

"You're with me on Mat after the flight," he stopped right in front you, his lips curled at the corners into what seemed to be an amused smirk. One that you wished you could wipe off his face with a fast, "so don't be late. And don't break anything."

"I don't need your help, Scamander--" you all but snarled but he cut you off with a hand and a shake of his head.

"If you want to complain, go talk to Eugene," at the mention of your Wing Leader, your protests dawdle into mutters. You knew there was no escaping Eugene's orders, especially since he was your Wing Leader and had the final say on anything concerning your upcoming performance in the Squad Battle.

"Well," Ren tilted his head towards you with a sympathetic smile, "good luck for the flight. I'm sure you'll do amazing. I saw your performance last time and had to say, I was impressed."

It took all your self-control to stop yourself from swooning, and as you breathlessly answered with, "thanks Ren," you wished to smack yourself with a metal pole because that definitely came out like a desperate whine rather than just a way to say goodbye.

Did you really have to sound that pathetic? And why in the world couldn't you just speak to him like any normal human? You felt like you were fifteen again and had a schoolgirl crush on the campus hottie, and it wasn't entertaining in the slightest.

A familiar tingle trickled through your nape and you turned around with a resigned sigh, met by a warm breath against your face. Egir.

"human," Egir's golden orbs blinked down at you. He seemed much more at ease this morning in comparison to how you'd met him in Threshing. Then again, a few cadets had pissed him off during that time, so you couldn't really blame him.

"Someone seems to be in a good mood today," you muse as you start your journey up his hind leg. He's not as big as the other dragons, but that does nothing to help against your cause, considering your tiny size and the fact that you're as light as a feather.

"And you are not. Seems to me that the scrawny brown-haired is the reason."

"His name is Ren, and no, you're not allowed to blast him off just because you feel like it."

"Because you think you can tell me what I can and cannot do?" there was a soft chortle, "dragons have rules of their own, human. We do not live by yours."

You made it up between his shoulder blades and settle your thighs along the back of his neck, trying not to roll your eyes at his words, "yeah yeah I heard you the first time. Dragon world and all that shit."

Your hands found purchase along his gleaming turquoise scales that reflected the light as though beneath you stood the ocean waves, a color so vibrant and beautiful that you wondered how on earth he kept it hidden in times of need.

"Use your thighs."

Your head snapped down towards the voice, a growl dying in your throat at the Squad Leader who seemed all too keen to be keeping an eye on you, his arms crossed and looking satisfied with himself.

"Piss off Scamander," you bit out.

He merely chuckled, taking a step closer as you spoke to Egir, "why don't you incinerate him instead?"

"Why should I?" Egir responds, "he doesn't bother me."

"I'm stating a fact," his blue eyes scanned your finger, lingering along the back of your legs and the way your arms wound tight around your dragon for support. "You're useless," you snapped at Egir, "you know that right?"

"Not to be that guy, but you fell off your dragon more than ten times during the last Flight session," Theseus continued, blissfully unaware of the mental war you were having with your dragon to blow him into a pit of fire. He took another step closer and you fumed at the way Egir just allowed him. If this were any other rider, your dragon would already be demonstrating its fire-breathing skills. But no, not Theseus. Never Theseus, despite how much he pissed you off and made you wish you could push him off his own dragon.

On the contrary, Egir seemed to have taken a liking to him.

"Because he's honest." Egir told you, his thoughts echoing inside your head without warning.

"And if I were honest, I'd be burnt to ash."

"Good then. Anything else I should know about before I fly, oh dear Squad Leader?" you rolled your eyes. Didn't he have better things to do than torment you all day long? It seemed to be his personal mission to make you his target.

"Yeah. Stop telling your dragon to burn me to death. You and I both know that he likes me."

"How would you know that?"

"Because otherwise I wouldn't be standing that close to him," Theseus grinned.

"Well, the human boy has a point," Egir shifted, blowing more steam out of his nose as he blinked at Theseus slowly, in a posture so relaxed you felt like slapping him at the back of his head, "if he were anyone else I'd gladly incinerate them."

"What if I want you to incinerate him?" You ask Egir before focusing on Theseus, "just go find your little fan club or something. You're being a nuisance."

"Alright. Whatever you say princess," And with one last smirk, the auburn-haired Squad leader walked away, but not without looking fully satisfied with himself. Once again, you trembled at the thought of stabbing into his rib with one of your daggers. Maybe that would put him out for enough time that you'd get to graduate before he'd healed.

Oh but who were you kidding? Theseus Scamander was one of the most skilled fighters that had ever graced the grounds of Navarre, and you definitely had a lot to learn when it came to him.

Because as stubborn as you were, even you couldn't deny the fact that he was indeed, a warrior born from the heart.

"Cadets! Are we ready?" Your professor called from his dragon.

You shifted your grip, adjusting your legs to make yourself more comfortable as Egir rose to his full height in preparation of the flight.

"Ready?" he asked you.

You nodded, "just don't let me fall." Before you added a soft, "please."

There was a pause.

"I won't."

With that, you closed your eyes and tried to obliterate every thought of the said auburn-haired young man out of your mind.

-----

"Why aren't you using your legs?"

You were a huffing and puffing mess underneath Theseus' hold, "I--" you gasped out, feeling the pain from his knee pressing into your abdomen, "--I can't."

"C'mon Y/N," his grip was made of iron, he had you caged against the mat like this was child's play to him. It was more than a little infuriating, "use your thighs. Grab onto me. C'mon."

"I--I really can't Theseus," tears sprung at the corner of your eyes in humiliation and he drew back at that, straightening up as you collapsed in a tired and angry heap onto the mat.

"What have you been doing all these weeks?" his voice was stern as he stood above you, hands on his hips and looking twice as irritated as he was a few minutes ago, "who have you been battling with?"

"Kiki," you breathe out, trying your best to regain your sanity before slowly rolling over and sitting up. You pushed your hair out of your face, wincing when pain burnt the side of your abdomen, "and sometimes Ren."

He made a sound of annoyance, "Kiki's too weak for you. And Ren'll go easy on you," he waited as you stood up shakily before gathering his daggers and sheathing them back into their places by his ribs and his thighs, "from now on, you'll be training with me or Eugene."

"And who decided that?" You crossed your arms over your chest. Jesus, even that slight action had you trembling with effort.

"Eugene did," Theseus raised a brow, "now if you're done complaining, do it again. Rob me of my knives."

He wasn't going to let you off that easily. That was clear.

So you had no choice but to brace your knees against the mat, eyes scanning his figure for a second, before launching at him with a kick.

He evaded it with ease, side-stepping as you turned around and dropped another round-house kick to his face. He ducked, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the ground.

You stumbled, regaining your footing just in time to see his fist come at you and quickly moved your head to the side, swiveling and using that momentum to rip the dagger hiding in his rib.

Dropping it to the ground with a satisfied klunk, you saw the ghost of a smirk on Theseus's face, "not bad," he mused.

You braced yourself into position one more time, and quickly dove to the ground for his thigh. But he was quicker, grabbing you by the mid-section before toppling you over so that your spine hit the mat.

Your arms flailed, grabbing hold of whatever you could of his arms or neck, but Theseus's thighs locked you in place, pinned you down as his arms flew up to cage in your hands above your head.

He was panting slightly, a lock of auburn-hair falling into his face as he looked down at you in satisfaction. His blue-green eyes glimmered with mirth as you gazed up at him with growing humiliation.

"One," he cocked his head, "one dagger. That's barely enough, Y/N."

"he's right, little human."

"I know that," you snapped back at both of them, anger simmering in your stomach. You tried to move out of his grip, to no avail. He only held on tighter, leaning in close so that if you lifted your head, your nose would brush his.

That was when you did the mistake of glancing at his mouth.

It was parted, little breaths coming out as he gazed back down at you. For a minute, everything ceased to exist as Theseus's warmth wrapped around you.

You felt him everywhere; his thighs along yours, his chest so close to your own, and the firm grip of his hands along your wrists.

Your eyes flew up to his aquamarine ones impulsively, only to let out a breath at what you found there.

For his gaze had darkened and his eyes swirled with an emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on. It was almost as though he was looking at you like--

--like he wanted to kiss you.

That thought was enough for you to squeak out, "let go, Scamander."

For once, he did as told and you felt hot all over, your body singed in the places he'd touched you. Your heart was fluttering like a hummingbird and you quickly took a few steps back, as if the bleak coldness traipsing through the training area would help you calm your nerves.

"Tomorrow before breakfast. We'll work on your technique," Theseus didn't even bother to check if you were okay before he walked away without a second glance, and you couldn't resist flipping him a finger as he retreated.

"should've done that to his face, little human."

"no, he'd beat my ass."

"ah, a coward I see."

"no, it's called being smart about who I want to fight with."

You swore you heard Egir laugh in your mind.

------

Everything hurt.

From the moment Theseus Scamander had made you his responsibility, you spent every waking hour outside of class sparring with either him or Eugene. The latter, who had indeed confirmed that you needed more training, had taken it upon himself to get Theseus to beat your ass as much as you needed to until there was some improvement.

"I'm not letting you be a burden for the Squad Games, Y/N," Eugene said in response to your complaints about Theseus's harsh treatment, "so man up and focus on your training. We only have a few weeks left."

"he's not wrong," Egir had stated in your mind, causing you to snap at him, "mind your own goddamn sheep business, Egir."

Truth to be told, you had seen some minimal improvement over the course of the week. Physically anyway. Your arms didn't look like twigs that could snap off at any moment and your thighs felt harder, stronger somehow. Even Kiki had noticed when you'd sat down atop her bed last night as you guys discussed the notes from classes that day.

"What has Scamander gotten you on, Y/N? I've never seen someone gain that much muscle in a small amount of time," Kiki openly stared at the muscles forming in your biceps whenever you moved to take notes.

You shrugged, wincing when the movement caused a sting between your shoulder blades where the said young man had indeed pressed his knee against to keep you down during training, "he's bullying me."

You didn't want to sound petty, but he was bullying you! Every muscle, every movement made hurt like hell and your body was so decorated in bruises one might think you'd just come out of battle.

“Well I’d let him bully me all the time if he were to pin me down on that mat,” Kiki wriggled her brows suggestively, “who wouldn’t?”

“You’re gross,” you wrinkled your nose at her and she laughed before replying, “do you know many girls would kill to be in your place?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to be in mine.”

“And those thighs, have you seen?” Kiki let out a loud sigh, “I’d love to have them pinning me down—“

That was when you threw a pillow at her face, “you are disgusting.”

In truth, you had gotten to know all about Theseus’s little fangirl club from the moment he’d started popping up wherever you went. Because wherever he was, his groupies followed. And annoyingly so, they’d always find excuses to gush about him as though he was a god walking amongst mere humans on earth when he was nothing more than a pretty boy.

But there was no denying that he was doing his job right. So you couldn’t fault him for that, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, it seemed as though Ren and his newly appointed girlfriend were making it their mission to annoy the hell out of you. That included always popping up at the most random times and causing you to grit your teeth whenever they got all lovey dovey with each other.

"What's up with all that extra training?" Ren asked you once as you were removing your fighting gloves and zipping up your winter jacket. The cold had seeped through the walls of the Training room and it didn't help that you had to cross over the courtyard to get to the warmth of your dorm.

You shrugged, "god knows. Something about me holding them back if I'm not at my full potential."

"Well, tell him to go easy on you," Ren's fingers were suddenly at your cheeks and he brushed over the fading, yellowish bruise at the corner of your eye.

Your cheeks tinged with pink and you quickly brushed him away, "it's fine. Nothing I can't handle," you muttered.

Ren was gazing down at you, a mxiture of worry and concern flitting across his face, "he's not...hurting you, is he?" he asked quietly.

"What?" You snorted, "no! Not at all. This is all part of training, I--" you hesitated slightly, unsure whether you wanted to continue this train of thought. Ah, fuck it, "I'm actually happy he's being harsh with me. I think it helps."

"You'll tell me if he does anything out of line, right?"

"He won't do that."

Ren's eyes reflected the distrust in your Squad Leader, but you stared down your best friend with a hard, firm gaze. Tension seeped through the cracks and for a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, wary of each other. That was, before a voice pierced through the gym:

"Ren!"

A figure threw themselves at Ren, breaking the spell and causing you to quickly shake off the negative feelings on the matter. He was just looking out for you, like you would for him if the situation was reversed. There was no need to be defensive, especially not when Theseus Scamander was concerned.

"I missed you," his girlfriend was whining at him, arms latched around his neck and hanging on like a baby koala. She turned, as if only now noticing your presence, before sending you a quick smile, "hello there," she chirped, "I'm Ariel. I think we haven't met before."

"No," but you knew all about her, "no we haven't. I'm Y/N."

"nice to meet you! I didn't know Ren had so many good friends here. It's good to be surrounded and allied," she lowered her voice then, green eyes twinkling with mirth, "you never know what might happen."

"No," you swallowed thickly, "no you don't."

Excusing yourself so that you wouldn't have to suffer some more through their interaction, you quickly slipped out of the Gym and made it to your dorm just in time to catch your tears along your sweater.

It hurt to think of Ren being happy with someone else. It hurt even more to think of her in his arms. He'd be the one comforting her every night, he'd be the one kissing her tears away and staying at her side whenever she needed it.

A part of you wished you had told him. Maybe the outcome would've been different if you had taken the courage to confess before Ariel had. But the way Ren looked at her, it was impossible not to notice how whipped he was. So you confessing wouldn't have made a difference.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, holding one of your daggers so tightly in your palm it cut through skin.

------

“Five daggers,” Theseus noted as he pinned you to the ground, straddling your waist before a wicked grin blossomed over his face, “getting better.”

“Get off me,” you grumbled, shoving him away and glowering when he merely laughed at your expense.

It was another day at the Training Gym, another day of your Squad leader kicking your ass as though it was his personal hobby to do so.

“You’re using too much power in your hits,” he stated while watching you pick up the scattered blades over the floor. On the other side you could spot Kiki holding another guy in a headlock.

Typical. She clearly didn’t need any help to defend herself on the mat.

A whack along the back of your head made you yelp. You swiveled with narrowed eyes, a scowl already in sight as Theseus crossed his arms over his chest and regarded you in amusement.

“Did you hear what I said?” He asked.

“No,” you replied bluntly. No use in lying.

He sighed, raking a hand through his auburn curls, “you’re not going to win the Squad Games at this rate.”

“What am I doing wrong now?”

“First, you should hit with your entire arm. Not just your elbow,” he took a step closer, motioning for you to get into your fighting stance. Then, his hands found their way to your forearms to adjust your position, “and use these elbows. They’re not here for nothing.”

“Yes mother.” You rolled your eyes.

He moved around, his leg nudging yours open slightly. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back and suddenly, goosebumps rose along your neck.

“Bend your knees a little. You’re small, but that means you can be swift. Use the ground to your advantage,” his hands gripped your hips then, causing a soft gasp to fall from your lips, before he maneuvered you into a lower angle.

His palms were warm. And big along your middle, so huge that they could encompass your entire waist. Your body tingled, suddenly on full nerves as you held your breath.

Theseus was close. Too close. You should probably tell him off about crossing boundaries.

But.

His breaths along your nape made you shiver. From this proximity you could smell him: the scent of warm grass under batch sunlight, of fresh lime and something smokier, one you couldn’t quite discern.

He smelled good.

“—got it?”

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise, noting how close he was. There were freckles adorning his face, and your eyes couldn't restrain themselves from gracing over his features only to lock on his own aquamarine blue ones.

Your heart fluttered. Why was he so close?

Why wasn't he moving away?

You didn't realize that you weren't breathing, until the said man let out a soft, staggered breath and looked away. Only then did you inhale sharply, forcing your features into a neutral mask of indifference before you took a step back.

"We're done," his jaw worked. You spotted the muscles moving and supposed he was grinding his teeth, "see you tomorrow. Same time."

And before you had the chance to say anything else, he was walking away, leaving you in the middle of a pool of your own sweat as you stared at his retreating back and wondered what the fuck had just happened.

------

"You have taken a liking to him."

You scowled at the back of Egir's head. A few days had passed ever since that weird encounter and Theseus had been admittedly avoiding you, pushing Eugene onto your training schedule with the petty excuse that he had meetings to attend. While it was utter blasphemy, you were grateful for the space given, considering that the last time you guys were in close contact, you felt like everything in your control was slipping.

Eugene was a good trainer. Far gentler than Theseus, but definitely just as firm. He had good technique too, so it wasn't like you were wasting any of your time.

But Egir seemed to know you all too well. Maybe that, and the fact that he could read your thoughts.

"what nonsense," you snorted mentally, "why would I like him? He's an obnoxious asshole."

"Who took out time from his schedule to help you."

"not anymore he doesn't."

Egir dipped, following your professor through the sky as he cut through clouds and you bent over, grip tightening over the skin of his nape as the wind slashed against your cheek. You were grateful that you had goggles on, for you knew without a doubt you'd already be crying from the harsh gusts if not from the mental and physical effort it took to stay afloat your dragon.

"But he did ask Eugene to help you."

"Nonsense. Eugene was the one that requested he trained me."

"That's not what I've overheard from his dragon," Egir snorted, swerving to the right with a little more force than necessary and almost banging you against the cliffside.

"watch it!" you couldn't stop yourself from barking aloud, causing him to let out a small chuckle inside your head, "and why the hell are you listening to dragon gossip?"

"I don't. But it's been talk of town as of late. His dragon seems overly fond of finding him someone special," Egir retreated back up towards the sky and you knew this training session was over when you spotted the flight field from where you were.

"Why? Scared he'll end up grumpy, old and alone?" you snorted.

"No, I don't think he'd have that kind of problem."

"Huh." You were confused.

"It seems the human boy has spoken to her about it."

You blinked. Theseus Scamander? The prodigy of the entire Squad? He was the one that had spoken to his dragon? From experience, it wasn't liek Egir to straight out lie to you, so whatever he was saying had to be the truth. But why?

"About what?" you asked hesitantly.

At that point, you had reached the Flight Field. Egir swooped down low, all four legs crashing into the ground none-too-gently before letting out a warm breath of steam, "about a girl that our Squad leader seems fond of."

Nonsense. Even if your Squad leader did have a heart, it was probably blackened and already charred to burnt bits. There was no way there was any human decency left in him. Experiencing the world of dragon riders did that to you, stripped you away of humanity until nothing else was left other than your skills as a weapon to this society.

"well I think you're mistaken," you retorted as you slid down Egir's back. He bent over to make it easier for you, the action causing warmth to blossom within your chest. Most riders have claimed dragons to be ruthless and violent, sometimes not even bothering to catch their riders as they fell. But not Egir. You trusted him with your life.

“It’s normal for boys of his age to be romantically interested,” Egir blinked, his ruby red eyes watching you as you checked his talons for any debris that might be stuck.

“Well yeah I know that.” You checked his scales next for anything smaller that might’ve escaped your eye at first glance, “so? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“That’s the thing,” Egir bent down, ruby red orbs giving you a slow blink before he let out a warm breath against your face, “I believe it’s you, little human.”

————

“I believe it’s you, little human.”

Me.

No fucking way.

You almost threw up the entire contents of your stomach upon hearing Egir’s words. Gaping at him like he’d grown two more heads, you tried to wrap your head around the insanity that was spewing in your face — only to realize after a few impending seconds that Egir was not lying, only blinking back at you with what seemed to be newfound amusement.

“Stop it. It’s not funny.” You told him, to which he only chuffed out a reply, his warm breath blasting you with heat, “I have better things to do than lie, little one.”

“Stop it, really. Just stop.”

"I like him better than the brown-haired cadet."

"Ren's not even on the market."

"Good riddance of that."

Your mind was in turmoil and you felt you had swallowed too much water. It took so much effort just to turn back around and walk to your dorm, your heart suddenly beating so fast that it hurt.

Theseus liked you. Theseus was fond of you, and not only that, he had his eyes on you. There was no way you wouldn’t have noticed… right? You weren’t that oblivious to anyone’s advances, were you?

But you were. Because now that Egir mentioned it, you were suddenly so hyper-aware of everything involving the said auburn-haired Squad Leader.

How he would always seek you out for the mat sparring, for instance, and how despite being firm on you and always making sure you pushed yourself to your limit, was always gentle afterwards when he helped you up or patched up your injuries. How he’d keep his eyes on you whenever you sparred with someone else, how he seemed overly involved with how many dark circles you had under your eyes every morning.

But it wasn’t only that. One would’ve probably brushed it off as incessant teasing, the way he’d always ruffle your hair or shove your head down whenever he passed by, or the insults that rolled off his tongue so easily whenever you were concerned, or the medicine that magically appeared right in front of your bedroom door whenever you were too hurt to move.

It made your heart hurt. And with good feelings, the kind of feelings that caused warmth to rush to your cheeks and fill your chest with butterflies.

You weren’t ready for that.

Nevertheless, you decided that acting normal would be you lying your way out of it and successfully managed to keep everything under cover for most of the coming week. That was, until that one day on the Flight Field when you almost fell from Egir’s grasp during take-off.

The ground couldn’t have come to you fast enough and you slid down Egir’s turquoise back gratefully, panting and sweating so hard you thought you would pass out. Leaning against your dragon until you regained some semblance of strength in your legs, you barely took note of a storming figure walking up to your face until a hand on your shoulder spun you around so quickly you saw stars.

“Wha—“

Theseus Scamander cut you off sharply, “—What the fuck were you doing out there?”

He was breathing hard, cheat heaving up and down with effort and eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I slipped. It’s fine,” you tried to force some strength into your voice, but it still came out in a shaky murmur, “I’m fine.”

“Always, always hold on with two hands like your life depends on it,” he hissed before he started pacing, hands raking through his auburn locks as he did so, “you could’ve fallen and died—“

“Egir won’t let me fall.”

His nostrils flared, “you don’t know that—“

Egir’s growl was enough to state that he disagreed.

Theseus tilted his head up, “even so, she’s never entirely safe,” his blue eyes were stormy when he met your own. His jaw clenched, “So don’t you ever fucking dare get your hands off—“

“Stop talking down to me,” you snapped back, “I’m not a kid. I know what I’m doing. Riders fall every time—“

“You fell because you were inattentive!”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what the fuck was your other hand doing?!”

“I—“ but you couldn’t find any answer. Because he was right. There was no explanation that would make sense. How could you tell him that he was responsible for muddling up your thoughts? How could you tell him that he was the one that occupied your mind so much you barely slept every night since?

“He has a point, human.” You felt Egir’s breath on your nape.

“Do me a favour and get out of my head, Egir.”

You watched Theseus’ jaw work. He ground his teeth, stormy eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and irritation, nostrils flaring like you’ve set his world on fire, and something like heat pooled inside your tummy.

He was hot, and you couldn’t deny that.

He probably noticed that you were staring at him, lips parted, because he blinked at you before furrowing his brows, “what?”

No words could make sense. Not when you were noticing just how handsome he was. Hair disheveled, lips parted as he breathed in and out, freckles adorning his cheeks…

Stop! Your thoughts rammed into you like a bullet train. This wasn’t the time to think about how hot he was!

“Interesting development,” Egir cackled.

“Shut up!”

“Nothing,” you averted your eyes to the ground, to the mud soiling your riding boots and almost cursed at the heat threatening to crawl up the back of your neck, “you’re right. I—I wasn’t being attentive.”

“Your thoughts should never stray from your dragon. Not even in distress, not even in panic,” concern flitted across his face then, so quickly you barley caught sight of it. His tone softened when he added, “go change. We’ll talk about this on the mat.”

You had no intention of bringing up your annoyingly loud thoughts into conversation with the said man that occupied your mind on a permanent basis. But he didn’t have to know that.

Later that night found you in the training gym, pushing weights off your shoulders in a rhythm that had your thighs screaming in pain. As a result of you falling off, Theseus had assigned Eugene to watch over your strength maneuvers so that you built more muscle into your legs. That only meant more weight lifting on tour part, a feat you were not a fan of, unfortunately.

“Alright,” Eugene almost looked downright sorry for you as you rolled over onto your mat, out of breath and soaked in your sweat, “you alright there, Y/N?”

“Never—“ you breathed in quickly, sucking in a sharp breath, “—been better.”

“I’m sorry,” he sent you a smile of apology before handing you a water bottle, “but Theseus has a point. You’re not useful if you can’t even stay on your dragon.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, “you’re not the one getting your ass kicked every goddamn day.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sympathy filling his eyes, “but for what it’s worth, you’ve improved immensely from our last spar.”

“Well I suppose there’s no one else but Theseus to thank for that.”

As if on cue, the latter appears from behind the Wingleader with his arms folded over his chest and with a frown between his brows, “why does she still look alive?”

“Excuse me,” you barely managed to get the words out in-between breaths as your hands went to find your knees, “I’ve worked my butt off while you were—over there—“ you motioned weakly towards the other training pairs, “—flirting.”

“Flirting?” His eyebrow quirked up in amusement and you heard the distant cackle of Egir’s laugh in your head.

“Well, I—“ you stuttered, heart ricocheting up to your throat, “yeah. Flirting — that’s what I meant.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, that and something more. Something that softened as though what you said held more meaning.

Your chest constricted. You turned away with a cough, “anyway, I’m heading back. I think that was enough practice for today. Wingleader?” You threw Eugene a look that hopefully screamed out how pitiful you felt on the inside and out, and thankfully the said man just chuckled before tilting his head towards the exit.

You were halfway out of the door when a hand suddenly latched onto your arm and spun you around, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Wha—“ you spotted Theseus and frowned, “what do you want, Theseus?”

“Walk with me.”

And he brushed past you before you could say anything else. You scowled at his retreating back, irritated by how easily he riled you up, but fell into step beside him nevertheless. You were too tired to argue with him. Not today.

“What? Have you not insulted me enough today?” You hoped the sarcasm dripping from your tone was obvious. You hated it people bothered you when you were the most tired. Today was one of those days.

He glanced back at you, a semblance of a smile ghosting across his lips, “who said I was going to insult you?”

“Seems to me that’s the only thing you know how to do.”

He allowed the silence to answer in his stead as the pair of you walked across the dimly lit courtyard up to the turrets where most first-years were assigned rooms. The night was cold and as the wind chipped at your neck, you were quick to wound your jacket tighter around you, arms folding across your chest protectively.

You jumped upon feeling warmth drape over your shoulders, looking up to Theseus’s icy blue eyes.

Confusion flitted across your mind, “what are you doing?” Your mouth dried up upon noticing how close his face was to yours.

He snorted, “what does it look like?” And proceeded to tuck the jacket under your chin, fingers brushing over your jaw and leaving trails of heat in his wake, “can’t have you falling sick and wasting all my efforts.”

No words seemed enough to make it out of your mouth, not when the sharpness of his tongue contradicted to the gentle way in which he handled you. And so you let him, gazing silently as he fiddled with the zipper until he seemed satisfied enough and ushered you forward.

Your heart skipped. Was this what Egir was talking about when he said that Theseus had feelings for you? And where did that leave you, when it came down to it? The thought of Ren flitted across the back of your mind and guilt ate away at your brain, at how easily you’d been distracted by your Squad Leader when you were supposed to be heart broken over Ren. But the truth was that no matter how much you tried and kid yourself, you hadn’t thought of Ren at all in the last few days.

And that terrified you. Because that could only mean one other thing.

That you had developed feelings for Theseus Scamander.

Now, you really did feel sick.

As if taking on a life of its own, your mouth opened to blurt out, "why are you nice to me?"

Theseus paused in his step. He glanced back at you over his shoulder, expression unreadable and stony, as you managed to catch up to his big steps.

There was a pause as he took in your words and you had no idea what was going on in his mind when his back was turned to you, a strong wall that kept everything in control, one that never slipped, that never gave way no matter what.

You wondered how many secrets lay within those walls. So you repeated yourself.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, "Is there any particular reason I shouldn't?"

"Is there a reason you should?" you shot back, “you don’t owe me anything and vice versa. I would like us to stay that way.”

A chuckle burst out of him, the sound so pure that goosebumps skittered across the back of your neck and down your spine. And when his eyes locked on yours, you were more than surprised to find the warmth in those turquoise waters.

“You never cease to amaze me, you know that?” He grinned.

“Yeah well, you’re probably the first.”

“Stop it with the pity act,” he halted, swiveling around to face you, “you’re not doing yourself any favours like that.”

“It’s not a pity act. It’s the truth,” you scowled back, hating how the closeness from his body to yours is causing your heart to stutter, “if I’m too weak to bring out for the Squad Games, they’ll think of me as a burden rather than a weapon.” Your lips pressed into a tight line, “you know what happens to burdens and liabilities. We don’t hide who we are in these walls. They’ll take me out the first chance they have.”

“I will not let that happen.”

You chortled, “because that’s in your control now is it?”

Theseus didn’t answer to that and you didn’t think he’d have anything productive to say. So you just gave him a smile — one that hopefully didn’t ressemble more of a grimace — before taking a step back, “well, I should—“

“Why did you come here?”

The question took you by surprise. You blinked up at him, mouth working silently, “I—“ you weren’t sure yourself. Why?

Because nothing else seemed to be as important, your brain whispered, nothing seemed like it would make a difference.

“Because I’d—“ the words felt like sandpaper in your mouth, “—I’d rather die here than surrounded by a stack of books, knowing that I at least tried to do something.”

He didn't say anything, the silence answer in his stead as the wind howled and bit at your skin underneath all those layers. Your shins were dying from frostbite surely by now, but you couldn't find it in yourself to look away from Theseus' aquamarine blue orbs. They wavered and swam with deep emotion, too deep for you to guess, and that made all breathe cease in the back of your throat.

Too quick for you to notice, his hand came up. He clasped the back of your neck and tugged you in.

You cried out, hands coming up to block your fall--

Only to be crushed into his chest.

Your mouth went dry.

What the actual fuck?

Theseus was warm and firm. Hard muscles underneath you, his pulse beating like a drum, deep vibrations all over your body that somehow made you feel at ease. Tilting your head up to ask whether he'd gone mad, your throat clogged up at the way he was gazing back at you. There was a softness glimmering across his features, a tenderness you seldom found there. It was different, yet it wasn't something unpleasant.

He almost looked...beautiful.

"You're not going to die," he murmured. You didn't notice, but his fingers were tracing over your cheekbone as though he'd longed to do so for a while. His caress was soft, feather-like, as though he feared breaking you, "I'm not going to let you die."

You wanted to tell him to stop lying. It didn't go well on him, but nothing came out. You couldn't find the energy to speak, not when he was holding you so close like you were something so beautiful, so dear to him.

"Why not?" was the question you asked instead.

He blinked, "What?"

"Why won't you let me die?" you bit your lip, "I thought you believed in the law of nature. You can't fight against death if you're weak."

"No you can't," he pushed a stray hair behind your ear and your knees almost buckled at his tender act, "but you're far from weak."

"That's not what you say when you keep beating my ass on the mat."

"That's--" his lips quirked up into a grin, "that's a different matter. I'm stronger than you, but you're a lot stronger than you think, Y/N."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment," quickly surveying the dark shadows above, you realized it was getting late and dark, and no good night sleep was ever favorable to you. So you gently pulled yourself away without looking at him, not wanting to see what he held there in those eyes, "we should go back. It's getting late."

"You're right." he nodded, motioning for the small path.

The rest of the walk went by in silence, and you tried not to think of the way Theseus's heart beat above yours that night, as you forced yourself to get some sleep.

————

"Stop leading her on."

It wasn't the words that made you stagger to a halt so that you could quickly crouch behind one of the marble pillars lining the terrace of the academy. But the voice.

You knew that voice off by heart.

Ren.

But what surprised you most was the voice that came after.

"Why would you care about her, cadet?"

That was definitely Theseus. You had spent enough time in his presence that you could recognize his baritone in your sleep. Not a concerning matter at all. The fact that these two are even talking made your blood crawl with apprehension for some unknown reason.

"She's one of my best friends. I don't want to lose her to a monster like you."

Jeez Ren, you thought to yourself, way to try and dig your grave early.

"I'd be the last one to hurt her, Taro," the use of Ren's surname made goosebumps skitter across your spine. Theseus' voice dropped even lower as he continued, "but you stay away from her if you know what's good for you. She doesn't need your pity act."

"She doesn't need your attention either. Leave her alone."

"Why should I do that?"

"I don't want your filthy hands on her."

Ooh. If that were anyone else, they'd surely get their heads cut off right this instant for speaking so disrespectfully of their Squad Leader. But Theseus merely scoffed and you leaned in closer to the pillar on impulse, glad that it was dark so that the shadows could hide you.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Taro. Stop making up silly stories in your head."

Something in your heart sank. You stared down at the ground in front of you, resting against the pillar. Of course Theseus wouldn't even dare think of you that way. And why did that mean so much to you anyway? It was just a little crush, you tried to remind your brain, there was nothing so spectacularly great about the said Squad Leader anyway. And plus, now was the time focus on not getting killed, rather than the matters of the heart.

You gathered up your beaten heart with both hands and silently crawled away from your hiding spot, not wanting to hear any more. Knowing that Theseus didn’r want you that way was enough.

You held it together, clamping your lips so hard that you felt them go numb. You flew up the stairs to your room and barely managed to shut the door before a sob crawled out of your throat.

What had you been expecting? Really? You tried to chide yourself into believing that there was nothing you could’ve done when the pain and the heartbreak echoed through your chest, causing you to slide down into a messy heap by the floor, trying your best to grasp onto the last bits of composure you wished you could put back together like broken pieces.

Enough, you told yourself through a film of tears. Gathering your knees to your chest and hugging yourself with your arms, you rocked back and forth on your heels, the tears caking down your cheeks and dripping over your legs. Enough of this. You were done.

Little human, it’s no use crying over him, Egir’s voice was a soft caress against your mind. It was warm, made you feel slightly better. He’s not worth an inch of your brain.

You’re talking about Ren or Theseus? You ask him.

Both, he chortled and that caused a small smile to crack through your lips, we don’t need them. You have other things to worry about.

Egir’s right. You didn’t have all the time in the world to be crying over boys, of all things.

You had to survive. And survive you would.

—————

“Y/N, please say something.”

You blatantly ignored Ren’s voice and instead focused on checking Egir’s scales for any damage, marks or debris that might have filtered in through the thick grooves of his skin. You felt, more than heard, the threatening rumble that echoed through Egir’s chest, probably because Ren stepped closer.

Immediately, the footsteps retracted. You turned and kept your face blank.

“What do you want me to say Ren?”

“You’re mad at me, and I don’t understand why.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you continue with your checks, “I just have better things to do.”

Tell him to step back before I burn him alive, Egir growls and you look back at your supposed best friend to relay the message.

The said young man does as told, taking two big strides from behind and lacing his arms behind his back warily, “you’ve been sulking since your bad flight maneuver. You know how it is, you shouldn’t beat yourself up about that—“

“I am not,” you frown at him, “thanks for your concern.”

Hope he’s not insinuating that I’m at fault here, Egir’s voice booms through you like a firecracker. You place a hand atop his scales to calm him down.

He’s not stupid enough to think that, you tell him.

“So what is it then?” You were so focused on your dragon that you almost missed Ren’s words, blinking back into focus as he continued, “does it have something to do with your training? Is it Theseus? What—“

“None of it,” you snapped back, “don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Hurt flashed through his hazel eyes and something in him deflated, “I miss you,” he said it softly, but the words were so sudden it caused your eyes to flit up to his in surprise, “I miss our conversations, I miss walking to class with you. You’ve changed…and I’m not sure how.”

“Of course I’m going to change. Have you seen in which environment we’re educated in?” You gestured towards the school grounds, “what? You think I’m going to stay the same little old Y/N that you’ve known forever?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he let out a soft sigh, pressed his lips together and looked away, “I just miss what we had.”

“Well we can’t have that anymore,” and with that, you lifted your leg up, hoisting yourself onto your dragon, “you went and got yourself a girlfriend. That changed everything.”

And you mounted before he had the chance to say anything else, glad that Egir’s broad back hid you from Ren’s hurt expression as you heard him walk away, the grass crunching under his feet. Letting out a soft sigh, you ran a hand through your tangled locks and tried to put Ren out of your mind.

Don’t get too comfortable, Egir’s words made you still, stiffening on his back, there’s another one.

No, you were not tolerating this kind of bullshit today. No fucking way.

You didn’t even try to understand past Theseus yelling out our name as you nudged Egir into the sky. His wings beat wildly to gain momentum and all of Theseus’s words were drowned away by the hiss of the wind whipping your hair back and slicing through your flight jacket.

Up there in the sky amidst the clouds, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that life was indeed beautiful. It was simple, the way the sun cast its rays over the horizon and bathed the lush green landscape in color. The school building was tiny from where you were and for once, you could try and imagine all your problems were as tiny as this. As unimportant.

You followed the rest of the flight maneuvers and was glad that for once you seemed to have kept your seat. Sliding down Egir as soon as he hit the ground, you took no time in examining his talons for any debris before quickly waving your dragon off in a dismissal.

You’re being quite efficient today, remarked your dragon.

I’m always efficient.

One might argue the contrary, he blew a soft huff and the heat of his breath blasted against your face, warm in contrast to the coldness seeping through your flight jacket, go rest, cadet. You look exhausted.

Why thanks for your kind words. What’d you do with my fiery dragon?

He chortled in annoyance, narrowing his eyes but despite it all bumping his nose into your back to push you towards your dorm.

You were thankful enough to avoid both men in question as you walked up to your dormitory where Kiki was waiting with her face set in a mask. Always the one who wanted to keep her good hygiene a priority, you were far from surprised when she patted the seat next to her as an invitation.

You sunk down into the chair with a sigh, “I’m not sure now’s a good time. I have training later.”

“Again?” She spoke, mumbling the words through her caked mud mask, “I thought you had a break this week.”

“When are they that nice?” You rolled your eyes, leaned back against the wall, “Eugene told me this morning that it starts at eight.”

“They’re all out of their minds.”

“No shit they are.”

“How are you feeling about it though?” Kiki peered at you through her mask, her concern clear, “the squad games? Think you’re ready?”

“I think I’ll never be ready,” you mutter, head turning to look out onto the field. The sun was slowly setting in the distance, casting the room in a golden hued glow.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve had weeks to train and from what I’ve been seeing, I think you’ve improved loads.”

“Thanks Kiki,” you sent her a weak smile, “that means a lot.”

She’s right cadet, Egir echoed inside your head, always around. Never gone. One might think it was intrusive to have him around all the time. But you actually started enjoying his presence, like the lingering warmth of the sun once the day was done.

I'll take that as a compliment, you heard Egir laugh.

You should, you told him with a roll of your eyes, I don't give compliments that easily.

You tried your best, for the rest of that week, to keep yourself busy with your head buried in your books when you were excused from classes and forcing Eugene to accompany you during your sessions so that you had no excuse to set your sights on a particular Squad Leader that had been haunting your dreams for a while now.

Alas, it would never be that easy when it came to Theseus Scamander, for you all but bumped into him the moment you escaped the Training Room. His arm shot out to steady you, a sizzle of electricity rushing down your spine as you quickly stumbled away and averted your eyes with a muttered excuse.

"Surprising sight," Theseus lifted a brow in surprise, "done avoiding me?"

Damn it, how did he know you were? You wanted to hurl something at him. Egir sniggered and said, he's not as stupid as the brunette, I'll give him that.

Stop defending him. We don't like him remember? you snapped.

Correction; you don't like him. I happen to have taken a liking to him.

"I'm not avoiding you," was your lame reply.

That caused Theseus to scoff and cross his arms, "You didn't even try to lie through that, Y/N."

"Look, Scamander," you let out a tired sigh, rubbed a hand across your face as you felt all the ache in your muscles, "I don't have time to fight with you. I'm avoiding you because you piss me off and I heard you talk about me behind my back. Unfortunately, I esteemed you to be better than what you actually are, and whatever you said about me hurts," just the memory of his conversation with Ren had you clenching your jaw and looking away, unable to look at Theseus in the eye for fear that you'd crack, "so I'd appreciate it if you got out of my way and we can both go back to however we were before, because apparently you don't care. And I will too, when I learn how to control myself and my stupid, petty feelings."

The silence that reverberated through the air was masked with palpable tension, the kind that was ice cold and make you shiver. But you didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look up at him for fear of what you might find there. There had been enough tears shed for this young man standing before you, and you had no intentions of wasting any more of your time wishfully thinking that Theseus Scamander might have romantic feelings for you when your life was on the line.

A few first years passed through the corridor then, causing you and Theseus to hover against the wall as the mild chatter bounced off the cavernous walls. Theseus’s eyes were blazing even in the dim lights flickering off the walls, intense with so much emotion you didn’t have the courage to look up at him, finding a spare piece of wall on which to focus your attention instead.

They were well past gone when he finally spoke, his voice heavy and laced with guilt:

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no,” you shuffle on the spot, “don’t. There’s nothing to apologize for. In fact, I must thank you. i really thought I was going a bit mad, thinking that you— well, that I—“ you choked on your own words and let out a soft laugh, “—anyway, it doesn’t matter—“

“You’re talking about my conversation with Ren.”

It wasn’t a question. But rather, a statement.

Your head dipped once in agreement.

Theseus sucked in a breath. His murmur was soft, surprisingly gentle, “cadet, you know it’s highly not encouraged for riders of different ranks to see each other.”

“I totally agree with that,” you tried to mask your hurt through indifference, “they’re right. Riders of different ranks should not mingle in that way.”

“Right,” he cleared his throat, “I think of you very highly, and I—“

“You don’t need to say it Theseus,” you cut him off with a smile that you hoped could fool him, “I know, I wouldn’t dream of being anything else. It’s good enough we’re— I mean— you’re training me. And that’s it. Nothing more.”

“I didn’t mean that I—“ he ran a hand through his hair, let out a sigh so loud and filled with weight you almost thought he was struggling with himself.

And when he continued, his voice had dropped an octave.

“I wish I was in Taro’s place.”

Mentioning Ren’s name made you blink in surprise, “what—“

“What I said that night,” he cut you off, blue eyes blazing in the dark and causing your breath to hitch, “was only because Ren was being a dick. But I— that’s not what I truly think.”

Suddenly it’s a little hard to breathe. And what you see in his eyes, it makes something in your chest warm.

You swallow, open your mouth to say something. Anything really.

But you’re not sure.

Because no matter what Theseus says, you’re still at loss as to what to think. Because what if he says something but means another?

What if it’s not what you’re hoping to understand?

If he’d tell you white on black what you truly meant to him maybe you’d understand. Maybe that would clarify everything.

But he was dancing around the truth— due to his rank and his fear of rumours — but it didn’t help, being in the dark from someone’s most vulnerable thoughts.

You bite down onto your cheek, “what do you think then?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the cavern wall, “that maybe…” his mutter is just above a whisper drifting across your skin when he turns to you, “maybe I’m developing feelings for you.”

The truth slaps you in the face like a blast of hot fire.

Your cheeks burn. You almost choke on your saliva.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Egir laugh.

Maybe? Maybe he’s developing feelings? Maybe doesn’t cut it.

Shut up! You yelled inwardly as heat flushes through your face like wildfire.

I hate to break it to you but I told you so, Egir replied and you swore you could imagine a smirk.

You wanted to reply something sarcastic, maybe be a bit witty with it. But nothing seems to speak to you, as though your soul had left your body to die in embarrassment.

“Oh.” Was your response.

Oh? Egir was laughing so hard you felt the heat of his fire as it blasted through his nostrils, that’s what you could come up with?

You flushed a deeper red.

Great. Now even your dragon thought you were pathetic.

Not pathetic, but you can do better than that.

Theseus on the other hand, just kept watching you. His gaze unreadable, cautious. Like he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

Finding purchase along the hem of your black tunic, you fiddled with the straps and tried to come up with a string of words: “I mean— like you said, there’s nothing to be done. About it, I mean. And we—this cannot happen anyway so it’s best if we just keep this between us.”

It was a long moment before the Squad Leader’s chin dipped into a single nod.

“Right,” he croaked, voice raspy and hoarse, “you’re right. Anything more would just be inappropriate.”

“Exactly!” You let out a laugh in hopes of dispelling the sudden awkwardness that was taking over, “inappropriate, yes. So uhm…”

Turning away from him and mouthing insanities under your breath, you continued in a flurry of words, “It’s getting late. I should head back before curfew.”

And dashed off before he could say anything else, your heart beating like a cuckoo inside your chest. One that would just not stop no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down.

Fuck.

———

Gearing up for the Squad Battle was exactly what you needed to get away from all the major issues of your life. You focused your energy entirely on coming up with strategies with your Squad, making sure that you were all on your highest potential before stepping into the Arena that would forever seal your fate as a first year or as another soul that would be taken away by the god of death itself.

“What if they decide to wake us up at midnight?” Kiki murmured into your ear as you all filed into formation that very morning, “do you think they’d be cruel enough to do that?”

“They would,” your other friend and squadmate, Bron, added to your left, the scar right along his left eyebrow a newest addition as of yesterday, “they’re mad enough.”

“I think they’re going to propose head-to-head battle this year,” the ginger-haired woman named Naomie, also part of your squad and one of your most fierce riders that’s bonded to one of the greatest dragons, said as you spotted your commandant step up to the dais, “apparently they had an object retrieval last year and it went badly.”

“What do you mean?” Bron asked.

“There was stuff that wasn’t supposed to be stolen,” Naomie explained, her voice lowering as a hush fell over the crowd, “and people weren’t really happy about that.”

Naomie was right. Head-to-head battles was the theme for this year and it was announced that battles would take place in the grand Canyon beyond the school, where each battler’s name would be posted on the board facing the dining hall. The cadets were instructed to find their names and that battles would commence immediately, thirty minutes from now, and as you navigated through the sea of cadets you tried to slow the panicked beats of your heart that seemed to bubble out of your chest and tighten the back of your throat.

This was surely not how you were going down. No way.

You had fought countless battles and granted, had lost half of the challenges given to you. But that didn’t mean you were weak. You had to believe that, if only to keep up that little strand of hope that you’d make it out alive.

You were just about to follow Kiki into the dining hall a hand latched onto your forearm, pulling you into the shadows.

You stumbled against the wall of the corridor, right behind the staircase as a yelp escaped your throat, “wha—“

Cerulean blue met your deep maroon.

Your breath choked inside your throat.

“Theseus,” you breathed out, then tried to smooth over your features, “what are you doing here?”

“I—“ he looked a little worn out, as if torn down by the few recent days apart, “how are you feeling?”

That was definitely not what he was going to say. But you humored him anyway, “feeling a little sick in my stomach to be honest,” you tried to laugh it off, “but it’s okay. I’ll manage.”

Something -- what seemed to be concern -- flickered in his eyes, “whatever happens, don’t forget the basics of everything we worked on during training," his voice was firm again. Confident. Unshakeable, "work fast, no need to use your strength.”

He was still holding on to your forearm, his grip firm but not painful, and you were awfully aware of this lack of distance as you looked up at him in growing apprehension, “I’ll try my best.”

You will be the best, growled Egir.

Confident now are we? You sniped back.

“No, it's not just trying," his eyes narrowed, head tilting a little closer so that you could spot the rain of freckles dotting his skin. Your hand tingled, an invisible ache to brush over his skin, if only just to know what it feels like, "you need to survive, Y/N. You need to will it into existence. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His features were stormy and intense, and you forced yourself to keep eye contact when you said, "I understand."

"Don't let anyone get to your neck or your ribcage," he finally released your arm to nudge at your elbow, "remember what I taught you during sparring."

"Always use the elbow," you echoed, still keeping your eyes on him, your heart twisting in your gut at the thought that maybe this would be your last day on the mat after all, "be swift. Be light on my feet."

You will not die today, growled Egir, over my dead body. I did not choose you for your weakness, cadet. Thanks for your ever-so-comforting words Egir. You really do know a way into a woman's heart.

If I knew, I would've had myself a family of dragon babies by then.

Someone's sounding a little more agitated than usual, trouble in Empyrean land?

Keep your questions and your nosy butt out of my personal life, he chuffed.

It was only then that you noticed of the silence growing between the two of you, with Theseus gazing down at you like there was something else he wished to say. A lot of something's, actually. His eyes were a swirl of emotion, dark and stormy and rolling with waves of god-knows-what he had on the tip of his tongue that he was keeping away from you in a cage of secrets nestled in his heart.

You opened your mouth to try and say something-- maybe tell him that you should go-- when you felt the lightest of touches along your forearm.

Theseus's hand ran down to yours, his touch causing a small breath to hitch at the back of your throat when he closed his fingers over yours.

You looked down at your entwined hands, a rock forming in the back of your throat. What in the world was he doing?

"I--" the words failed you, dying along your tongue like sand.

It was impossible to stay focused, with Theseus's eyes searching your features. With him being so close, his scent wrapping around you and reminding you of that fateful night where he'd draped his jacket over your shoulders.

Just the thought of it caused heat to spring through your cheeks, something that Theseus noticed. He cocked his head to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk, "are you blushing?"

"No," you denied it, though you were probably fire engine red by now.

The Squad Leader merely chuckled and, with one firm tug, had you crashing into his chest.

You yelped out in protest, hand coming up to brace yourself only for his other arm to slip around your waist and hold you to his chest. Firmly, just like he'd held your arm. But gently too, as if you were a piece of porcelain about to break. He didn't hesitate to bury his face into the side of your head, nuzzling into you as though he'd finally found a slither of peace through the never-ending tide of tension that ran throughout the Basgiath grounds.

"Theseus," your words were a mere breath, practically silent as the ringing in your ears grew louder by the second, "I thought we said--"

"Fuck what we said," he growled against the shell of your ear, "I-- can't. I can't stay away from you no matter how hard I fucking try. It's tearing me apart and I just cannot--the thought of losing you in there--" he choked on his words as though overrun from emotion and surprised, your hand went up instinctively to cup at his cheek, tugging his face away from your neck so that you could catch a glimpse of his face.

And what you found there made your heart pound.

Because Theseus was looking at you like you were the one responsible for his centre of gravity. Like you could say anything and he'd come running. Like you were the earth and he was merely the moon, fated to chase you for life. And he was okay with that.

It knocked you off balance, made you choke up on your own words. Your heart beat so loudly that it pulsed through your brain.

"Hey," you were surprised by how stable your voice was, "I’ll be okay. I was trained by the best, wasn’t I?”

He released a breath, leaned into your touch like you were the one to ground him, “trust me, that's the only thing that's keeping me sane. Barely."

"My battles are not yours to take," you kept a stern gaze on him, "do you understand that?"

He nodded, leaning down ever so slightly so that your noses brushed.

As if the physical proximity calmed him down. As if it comforted him. Maybe it did.

For a minute, neither of you spoke as the silence wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. Not awkward, not cold. But warm with the flurry of feelings that you'd been shoving under the rug for too many months to count. He was warm against you, his heart beating through his chest and his scent wrapping around you like a hug that made you want to sigh in contentment.

It was only the sound of the bell -- a warning that all cadets should have gathered in the hall by now -- that snapped you out of your trance.

Slowly, very slowly, you extricated yourself from his grip as your hand dropped to your side, only to have him hold firm on your middle.

"I have to go," you whispered out, "or they'll penalise me."

But the Squad Leader was dazed, his eyes swimming with countless emotions that you thought you could read but didn't want to, the blue pupils causing fire to ignite in your belly and causing you to take a sharp inhale when they flickered down to your mouth.

You could, if you wanted to. Just a little closer.

His nose nuzzled yours. You felt his breath caress your cheek.

Your eyes slipped shut. Expectant. Waiting.

If you leaned a little closer, a little more.

You could--

Cadet!

Egir's voice was the one that made you jump. Startled, you pushed Theseus away with a silent gasp as you heaved a breath, looking at him in growing horror of what you would have done if not for your dragon.

Get to the arena now! bellowed Egir with a roar so loud it made your ears burn.

"I--I'm sorry," you breathed, eyes wide, looking anywhere but at Theseus, "I--I need to go."

You turned and without looking back, you ran for your life.

--------

You're an idiot.

That was the first thing that your dragon said to you once your eyes fluttered open, only to be met with an all-too familiar white ceiling.

Where am I? Your head felt like it weighed twice its size and everything hurt. Your body was throbbing like you'd gotten run over by a few flocks of sheep.

Or dragon.

Why in the world would you use your head? Egir was clearly angry, his voice simmering with rage that you felt through the shimmering red bond you shared with him. It thrummed with heat, enough that you felt it prickle your chest, didn't you learn anything from all those sparring lessons? Wasn't Eugene clear on using anything but your skull?!

Egir, slow down. I have no idea what you're talking about, you wince, and my head hurts.

You were duelling, he said flatly, I believe his name was Freight--

And then it hit you.

Everything came rushing back like a dam suddenly bursting open.

The arena. You and your squad waiting anxiously as cadet after cadet was called out to duel. Your heart still beating, distracted because of what had just transpired between you and your Squad Leader.

And then the fight. Trying to evade one of the best fighters of the year, feeling Freight pushing down onto your ribs until one of them cracked, feeling him slam your body down again and again and again--

A sharp inhale left your lips, hissing when it made your head throb.

You took him out with your skull, Egir sighed, slammed it down onto his nose so hard his entire bone broke and he fainted on the spot. Had to be carried out of the arena by the medics--

Well at least I won, you retorted. Now that reality was sinking into you, so was the relief that came with knowing you had won.

You had won, fair and square. And no one could take that away from you.

Barely, retorted your dragon, I'm still mad at you for neglecting your limbs. Only an idiot would do such a thing.

Thanks Egir, what a great way to congratulate me.

The door suddenly slid open and in came a Healer--an old man looking like he was probably past the age of eighty at best. His face cracked open into a smile when he saw your countenance.

"Well, I must say you're looking quite alright for someone who supposedly has a concussion," he says brightly as he walks over -- or rather hobbles -- to your bedside, "how are you feeling?"

"Horrible," your headache was getting worse and you could barely move your limbs, "what happened?"

"You fainted right after Freight tapped out. But you had a big concussion. I've had two Healers watch over you for the past two days."

"Two days?" You were out for that long? What about your friends?

And what about...Theseus?

Your friends are fine, came Egir's reluctant grumble, as though it forced him to say the words. The squad leader...not that great.

What? panic took over like a chokehold, what happened? What do you mean?

"Yes, two days," the Healer continued, ignorant of the inner conversation you were currently having with your dragon as he checked your vitals, "but you've been recovering quite nicely, taking all into consideration. I'd like to discharge you this afternoon, if you're feeling up to it. I know a lot of people have been asking about you."

"Yes," you said straight away, "please."

"Let's wait it out a few hours shall we?" he patted your arm in comfort, "and then I'll see whether you're good to go."

The hours that passed were roaringly silent, with only Egir's thoughts to keep you company. And even he was distracted, currently in the midst of chasing a flock of new sheep that he'd found earlier. So you had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and wonder about whatever the heck had happened to you.

And Theseus. Your mind swirled with endless possibilities of his reaction when he got to know about your incident. He was probably furious with you, maybe even enraged that you'd risk your life so foolishly. Knowing him, he would be the kind of guy to give you the cold shoulder just because you'd put yourself at risk.

But it wasn't like you'd done it on purpose. Kiki would understand. Ren certainly would.

And Ren... the thought occurred to you then. Had he passed? Was he okay?

You had probably dozed off, for the next thing you knew there were voices shouting down the corridor. They snapped you awake, bolting upright despite the pain echoing through the back of your spine just as the doors to the infirmary burst open.

Theseus stormed in, looking dishevelled and like he hadn't slept in days, "I told you I wanted to know as soon as she was--"

He froze in his tracks when his eyes met yours.

You gulped. Tried to lift your lips into a tentative smile.

There was relief first. And then, a stormy kind of anger took over while the healer beside him fluttered around, "like I said earlier, you cannot be here! There are visiting hours for this--"

"Get out," he simply answered, his gaze not leaving yours as he approached the bed.

"But I--"

"I'm not going to repeat myself." Still, his eyes pinned you in place.

Swallowing thickly, your gaze slid to the healer and you nodded, tried to give her a smile, "it's alright, really. He's my--" you almost stumbled over the word, "--friend."

You didn't take note of the way Theseus's eyes flared in response, but you didn't have to, for the moment you turned back to him he was already in your peripheral.

"You could've been nicer to that Healer lady," was the first thing that slipped out of your mouth the moment your eyes met.

His gaze was impenetrable. Hard, "I had more important matters to think about."

He didn't have to elaborate. You knew he was talking about you.

"Right," you threw him a tentative smile, "how are you--"

"Are you an idiot?"

His voice cut through you, so filled with rage that you flinched from impact.

Egir growled from your bond, tell him to watch it, or I'll blow his head off.

I thought you liked him.

Not if he's going to speak to you like that.

"I don't...quite understand," you replied lamely.

"You--" his nostrils flared and he started pacing back and forth across the bed, "you had every weapon at your disposal. That fight with Freight, it should've ended with your knife in his side. And you--what?" he let out a humourless chuckle, "decided to go for his head? With yours?"

"I had to think quickly."

"And what good did that do?" He snapped as he swivelled towards you, "now you've got a concussion and you've been out here like a vegetable."

"I think the word you meant was "congratulations for passing the Squad Games,Y/N,"."

He glared at you. You glared right back, the two of you wrapped in a fire battle of unspoken words that seemed to jar the air and cause annoyance to bubble up in your stomach. Goddamnit, you had survived, you had passed. And still, he was angry at you? What more did he want? Why couldn't he just be relieved, happy even, that you had made it out with only a concussion?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Theseus finally decided to drop onto one of the benches closest to your bed, a soft sigh escaping his lips. It was then that you took note of his ruffled hair, the blue apron underneath his eyes to suggest he'd barely had any sleep, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw as though he was grinding his teeth to nothing.

You had the decency to feel bad for him. Looking like this made you think that perhaps the reason why he was so out of sorts was maybe because of...

You.

And that was why you muttered a soft, "I'm sorry."

His blue eyes glanced up in surprise, "what for?"

His voice was gruff. Yet not cold.

You continued, hands finding purchase atop your blanket, "for risking my...life. I guess?"

A snort echoed past his throat but didn't say anything to that. Instead, he looked away. Like it pained him to look at you for too long.

Which was why you gathered up the courage to ask in a soft murmur, "is that the only reason you're mad at me?"

When you were met with only silence, you continued, "I mean, I get that I shouldn't have done what I did. It was stupid. Trust me, Egir also gave me a hard time," a small smile flickered along your lips, "but surely I don't deserve so much of that anger, Scamander. I was just trying to win, like anyone would've done."

He looked at you for a long, drawn out moment, his face void of any emotion. You tried not to squirm, but your eyes fell away as intimidation grew with every passing second, distracting yourself by twisting the sheets between your fingers.

Theseus rose from his bench. Slowly, taking his time. Like a predator setting for the kill. He moved with ease, giving you time to escape if you really wanted, towering over you as he pressed his hands on either side of your hips and practically trapping you in bed.

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to move back but definitely feeling the pressure of his gaze along your features.

Averting your eyes, you tried to stutter out a, "wh--what?"

"You're right," his words cut through the air dangerously. They swirled around you, intense with emotion. His alto raspy and thick, like he couldn't really help himself, "it's more than just your fight. Seeing you in there, scared me. In more ways that I could imagine. But it's not just that," his eyes softened, making your chest tight with butterflies as his baritone turned to a murmur, "like I said before the Squad Games, the thought of you losing or worse--it makes me sick. I can't even phantom the thought because I might throw up if I do. Because I've realised that I actually enjoy sparring with you. I can't go a day without hearing your voice because it makes me feel things I can't quite explain. I love it when you're mad at me, because it makes your cheeks flush and you look so adorable I can't help but imagine so many things I could do to you--"

He took a breath then, let out a shaky exhale as his hand came up to brush over your cheekbone. Just like he did back when he'd first told you that you were strong.

And when he spoke next, his words were nothing but a soft murmur laced with a tenderness that had you weak in the knees.

"I have feelings for you," he croaked, voice thick with emotion, "and I don't know what--how to deal with it. Because it's unfair, to you. Because I know it's not well-seen and if I could protect you from everything people might say I would, but I cannot--"

"Like I said," you snapped back, annoyed that he would always, always take everything on his back like it was his burden to carry, "I'm not your responsibility. What I feel is what I feel, and if I like you, then so be it. That has nothing to do with you."

He just gazed at you like you had gutted him open. And you felt his heartbeat under your hand, the one that had slid up to his chest unconsciously, beating so fast that it caused a small smile to tug at your mouth.

"Do you..." he hesitated slightly, nose brushing yours in a tantalising manner, "do you mean that, Y/N?"

He'd seldom say your name out loud. Heck, you could count on one hand the number of times that he did. So hearing it fall from his own mouth had your stomach clenching with palpable heat.

You bit down onto your lower lip and Theseus's eyes caught on. He stilled, his gaze darting from your lips to your eyes and back again.

And you knew then and there, and you didn't have to say anything.

For it was written all over your face.

Palm coming up to cradle your cheek, he leaned over you until all you could see, all you could feel, was him. And him alone.

The world fell away for that singular moment, wrapping you in a cocoon of bliss.

"Can I kiss you?" He murmured.

Your hand went up. Grabbed at his uniform, and tugged.

Your lips found his first. Theseus let out a sound between a groan and a moan, his body curving over yours and his arms dropping to your waist to wrap around your middle and pulling you close to him until every line of his perfect frame was aligned with yours. He kissed you, chased your mouth like you were the oasis, lips curving along yours and nipping at the skin there so that all you could do was moan into him and writhe underneath, fire bubbling through your skin and scorching ever inch of your body no matter how much you tried to reign in your self control.

It was impossible. He was everywhere. His touch, his scent, the way his hands felt sliding against your tunic until he found the soft flesh along your stomach. You gasped at the sensation and he took this chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, curling along your wet muscle and grunting when you responded with just as much vigor.

You didn’t know how long you kept on going; kiss after kiss after kiss. Theseus kissed you slow, taking his time like he wanted to savour you. He’d press into you so that you gasped, those little sounds spurring him on as he’d allow his hands to roam all over your body, growling into your mouth in appreciation of what he found.

You were dazed by the time he broke from your mouth to explore your neck, leaving a dotted line of kisses as he went all while grumbling softly to himself in satisfaction.

Finally, the Squad Leader pulled back just enough so that you could get a glimpse of those bright blue eyes swirling with a mixture of tenderness and growing affection. His hands found your hips and with one firm tug, pulled you into his lap and caged you there.

You flushed bright red as embarrassment overtook your senses, “uhm Theseus, I think that—“

He kissed your protest away and you all but melted into him with a soft grumble. And when he pulled back, there was a grin along his mouth, “hm?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you tried to frown at him, but it was hard when his hands were currently drawing shapes along her waist, on her naked skin, no doubt.

Damn him if that wasn’t hot.

“I’m not playing,” he nuzzled at your cheek, breathing in your scent before pressing a kiss there, “I’m hundred percent serious.”

“Oh shut up.”

The young man chuckled before proceeding to hug you close to him. You had no choice but to nuzzle into his chest, hands solaying across his rider’s tunic as he tucked you into the crevice of his collarbone.

“You’re sure about this?”

He looked down at you in surprise upon hearing your words. His eyebrow quirked up, “sure about what?”

“This,” your hands drifted across his chest, “us.”

Theseus’s lips fluttered over your temple, “so sure I could marry you tomorrow, if need be.”

“Oh,” your face colored in realization.

But he merely let out a small laugh, shook his head, and hugged you close like he was never going to let go, “I’m sure.”

That was all you needed to hear.

#theseus scamander #fourth wing #iron flame #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #fourth wing imagines #fantastic beasts #theseus fantastic beasts #theseus imagines #theseus fanfic #fourth wing fanfic #iron flame imagine

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mae-gi-writes · 2 months ago

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okay so I'm currently obsessed with FOURTH WING and obviously I'm having this fantastic idea to write an imagine about how Newt Scamander from Fantastic Beasts would be as a Rider with a Dragon.

#fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #FOURTH WING #fourth wing #iron flame #Rebecca yarros #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #the empyrean #newt scamander #fic idea #fan fiction imagine

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mae-gi-writes · 2 months ago

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God forbid a girl prefers fictional men

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mae-gi-writes · 2 months ago

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CHOKING ON MY LUNCH TO READ THIS AMAZING MASTERPIECE

right next door!

pairing: enemy!sunghoon x reader

synopsis: you and park sunghoon have been tangled in hogwarts' most explosive rivalry since fifth year—all duels in corridors and sabotaged potions and lingering stares across the great hall. now in your last year, you're forced to share prefect duties, and between his infuriating teasing and surprisingly caring moments, you can't decide if you want to hex him or kiss him. but when old wounds resurface and the line between rivalry and something else blurs, you'll have to confront why his attention still makes your pulse race—and whether some bridges are better left burned.

genre: hogwarts au, ex friends to enemies to lovers, forced proximity

warnings: highly suggestive content!!, a steamy pool scene, sunghoon gets called an exhibtionist as a joke, mentions of blood status, jealousy, swearing, lots of hogwarts lore references, angst

note: lowkey got inspired to write this after reading deadly education but ended up making it spicy lol. also i haven't specifically mentioned which hogwarts houses the reader and hoon are in since you guys must be different houses so yeah. enjoyyy

word count: 8.1k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the parchment trembled slightly in your grip, the edges crinkling under your fingertips as you stared at the freshly inked letters spelling out your name beside the words girl prefect. your breath caught—just for a second—before a giddy warmth spread through your chest. you could’ve sworn your feet barely grazed the stone floor as you made your way to the front of the classroom.

this was it.

all those late nights hunched over textbooks in the library until your eyes burned. every extra credit assignment you’d taken on, every house point you’d fought for. the way you’d practiced spells until your wrists ached, all for this moment—the recognition you’d craved, the proof that your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.

then the head of house cleared their throat.

“—and your fellow prefect will be park sunghoon.”

the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale.

your head whipped toward him instinctively, muscle memory from years of tracking his movements, and just like always—just like always—he was already looking at you. his lips twitched, not quite a smirk but something dangerously close, his dark eyes alight with amusement.

of course.

of course it had to be him. the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

the head of house folded their hands atop the desk, surveying the two of you with the weary patience of someone who had long since grown tired of your antics. “i trust,” they said slowly, “that this appointment will encourage you both to set aside your… differences and act with the decorum expected of prefects.” their gaze flicked between you, pointed. “no duels in the corridors. no jinxes in the common room. and for merlin’s sake, no more sabotaging each other’s potions.”

sunghoon’s expression was the picture of innocence. “i would never.”

you barely suppressed a scoff. liar.

the moment you were dismissed, you spun on your heel, determined to escape before he could so much as open his mouth. but sunghoon, with his long legs caught up and fell into step beside you with infuriating ease, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to make you stiffen.

“looks like we’re stuck with each other, sweetheart,” he mused, voice dripping with false sweetness.

you clenched your jaw. “don’t call me that.”

“what, would you prefer partner?” he grinned when you shot him a glare, the torchlight catching the sharp curve of his cheekbones.

“oh, come on. admit it—you’re thrilled. all those patrols together, just you and me.” he leaned in just slightly, and you hated the way your pulse jumped. “bet you’ve been dreaming about it.”

“dreaming of hexing you into next week, maybe.”

he laughed, low and taunting, and you hated the way it sent a prickle down your spine—the way it still did, even after all this time. “you’d miss me too much.”

“in your dreams, park.”

“already there.” he winked.

you stopped short, turning to face him fully. the corridor was empty save for the two of you, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his sharp features that made him look almost otherworldly.

“listen,” you hissed, “just because we’re prefects now doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten what you did last term. or the term before that. or—”

“you’re really holding onto that?” he tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his side—like he was stopping himself from reaching for something.

“i’d say it’s flattering, but it’s starting to sound like an obsession.”

your fingers twitched toward your wand. “i swear, if you don’t—”

“ah-ah.” he tutted, nodding pointedly to the enchanted portraits lining the walls—several of whom had paused their conversations to watch the spectacle. “decorum, remember?” his voice dropped, just for you. “wouldn’t want to disappoint the head of house on our first day.”

you forced your hand to relax, but the fire in your chest refused to die. this wasn’t just about rivalry. this was about the way he’d looked right through you fifth year, like you were nothing. like you’d never been anything.

“this isn’t over,” you muttered.

sunghoon’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “oh, i’m counting on it.”

and with that, he strolled past you, robes swishing behind him like a victory banner. you stared after him, torn between the urge to scream and the sinking realisation that this year was going to be very long.

but if he thought for one second you’d let him win?

he had another thing coming.

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

the moment you stepped into the prefects’ wing, the air itself seemed to thicken, pressing against your skin like a warning. this part of the common room was unnervingly quiet—separated from the usual chaos by an ornate archway woven with enchanted ivy that shivered as you passed. two doors faced each other in the dim torchlight, close enough that you could’ve stretched out your arms and touched both at once.

yours. and—

“no.”

sunghoon’s voice curled around you from behind, rich with amusement. “yes.”

you didn’t need to turn to see his expression—you knew it by heart. that lazy, lopsided grin, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners just before he delivered some infuriating remark. your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you clenched them into fists instead, nails biting crescents into your palms.

the door in front of you seemed to taunt you with its very existence.

“this is a joke,” you muttered.

“a hilarious one,” he agreed, brushing past so close his sleeve whispered against yours. he leaned against his doorframe with practiced ease, the flickering torchlight carving shadows under his cheekbones, gilding the curve of his smirk.

“aw, don’t look so heartbroken, princess. could’ve been worse,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “you could’ve been stuck next to someone boring.”

you shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “right. because you’re a delight.”

he pressed a hand to his chest—the same way he used to when you’d accuse him of cheating at exploding snap—and the familiarity of the gesture lodged like a splinter in your throat. “i’m wounded. after all these years, you still don’t appreciate my charm?”

“your charm,” you spat, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered, “is what got us here in the first place.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

for one fractured second, his mask slipped—just enough for you to catch the flicker in his eyes, the barely-there tightening of his jaw. but it was gone before you could name it, smoothed over with a careless shrug that didn’t match the sudden tension in his shoulders.

you remembered when those shoulders had carried your unconscious first-year self to the hospital wing after your disastrous attempt at flying. remembered how they'd shaken with silent laughter during history of magic when you'd charmed his quill to draw rude pictures on his parchment. remembered most painfully how they'd turned away from you in fifth year, when he'd started sitting with them—the polished, pureblooded group who whispered about blood status in the corridors.

it had started small. skipped study sessions. forgotten inside jokes. then one day you'd walked into the great hall to find your usual seat by the window—your seat, the one he'd saved for you every morning since first year—occupied by some simpering girl from his new circle.

when you'd cornered him after potions, demanding to know what his problem was, he'd just shrugged. "people change." like it was that simple. like four years of friendship meant nothing.

so you'd made sure he remembered.

if he wanted to pretend you didn't exist, you'd force him to notice you. you charmed his robes neon pink during presentations. swapped his pumpkin juice with vinegar. turned all his quills into snakes during arithmancy. each prank was a scream into the void: look at me, see me, remember what you threw away.

now, standing in the dimly lit corridor, the weight of those memories pressed between you like a third presence. sunghoon recovered faster than you did, his smirk sliding back into place with practiced ease.

"still holding onto ancient history, i see," he mused, pushing off the doorframe to take a step closer. the movement brought him into your space, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cedar and ink that still haunted your dreams. "what's next? you gonna charm my shoes to stick to the floor like third year? or—"

"that was you," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. the accusation hung between you, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. you did this first. you started this war.

his eyebrow quirked. "and you turned all my quills into snakes during arithmancy."

"after you vanished my potions textbook the week before NEWTs!"

"allegedly."

"you left my handwriting on a fake love note to flitwick in the margins!"

he grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it was so familiar that your chest ached. "allegedly."

you turned back to your door before he could see how his smile still affected you, how your traitorous heart still stuttered at the sight. but sunghoon, ever relentless, wasn't finished.

"you know," he said, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate—the tone he used to reserve for midnight confessions and hidden corners, "if you wanted my attention this badly, you could've just asked."

your hand froze on the doorknob.

for one suspended heartbeat, the air between you crackled with the ghost of what you'd once been—two halves of a reckless, unbreakable whole. you could almost feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours in the library, the way he'd whisper jokes into your ear until you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

then reality came crashing back.

"keep dreaming, park," you scoffed, shoving the door open with more force than necessary.

his laughter followed you inside, warm and melodic and wrong—because it wasn't yours to keep anymore. "already do," he called after you.

you slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if it could shield you from the way your pulse raced, from the way your eyes burned with something dangerously close to tears. outside, you heard his footsteps pause, followed by the sound of his door gently slamming shut

your chest ached.

this year was going to be hell.

it becomes a thing after that.

you start bumping into sunghoon at the worst possible times—as if the universe has decided your suffering is its favourite spectator sport. like when you drag yourself into the hallway at 2 am, bleary-eyed and half-dead from studying, your vision swimming from hours of staring at ancient runes, only to collide with something warm and solid.

"oof—"

the scent hits you first—cedar and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candies he always used to sneak during classes. your sleep-addled brain recognizes it before your eyes do, and your stomach does a traitorous little flip.

sunghoon steadies you with hands on your shoulders, his own hair sticking up in three different directions, dark strands falling into his eyes. he's wearing what might be the most ridiculous sleepwear you've ever seen—flannel pants with little animated broomsticks that actually move, hanging low on his hips, and a threadbare quidditch jersey that's definitely two sizes too big, slipping off one shoulder to reveal a sliver of collarbone.

you blink.

he blinks back.

for one horrifying second, you're both frozen there in the dim torchlight, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of your oversized hoodie (the one with the cartoon snitch that says "catch me if you can"—a gift from your friend jungwon that you'd never admit to owning).

then his gaze drops to your feet.

and he snorts.

"please tell me those were a gift," he says, pointing at your slippers—fluffy monstrosities shaped like kneazles, complete with little ears that flop when you shift your weight. one ear has started to curl inward from wear. "tell me you didn't willingly purchase those."

you flip him off, shuffling past with as much dignity as you can muster when your slippers make a soft mrrp noise against the stone floor.

"they're warm," you mutter.

"they're embarrassing."

"says the guy wearing pyjamas with his dancing broomsticks on them."

you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning. you can hear it in his voice. "you noticed? i'm flattered."

your cheeks burn. damn him.

he starts stealing your favourite study spot, too.

the one by the window in the common room—the table with the perfect view of the lake, where the afternoon light turns the water to liquid gold and the old oak table bears the carved initials you'd put there fourth year (SH + Y/N, hidden under the edge where only you'd know to look). you've claimed it for years, and everyone knows it.

which is exactly why sunghoon's sitting there when you walk in one evening, already sprawled across the bench like he owns it, twirling his wand between his fingers with lazy precision. the dying sunlight catches on the silver rings he always wears, making them gleam.

you stop dead.

"wow," you deadpan. "you work fast."

he doesn't even glance up from his parchment, but you see the way his lips quirk. "what can i say? early bird gets the view." he finally looks up, and the smirk he gives you is all sharp edges and challenge. "maybe you should try being less predictable."

you consider setting his notes on fire.

instead, you take the table next to his—the wobbly one that always tilts your inkwell—and pointedly ignore the way his knee brushes yours under the table when he stretches.

(he definitely does it on purpose.)

(you definitely don't think about how his legs have gotten longer since fifth year.)

but the worst is the patrols.

being forced to walk the castle's quiet, echoing corridors together—where every footstep sounds too loud, every breath feels too close.

tonight, he's holding his wand aloft like some kind of dramatic victorian ghost hunter, the lumos glow casting long shadows across his sharp cheekbones, catching on the silver hoop in his left ear.

you roll your eyes. "bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"sorry for not having bat vision like you."

"maybe if you didn't spend all your time preening in mirrors—"

you don't even see the uneven step.

one second, you're scoffing at him—the next, your foot catches on a raised stone, and you're lurching forward with a startled gasp, your wand flying from your grip.

but before you can faceplant into the cold stone floor, his hand shoots out, gripping your elbow and yanking you back upright with surprising gentleness. your chest collides with his, and for one terrifying, electric second, you're right there—close enough to see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough to feel his breath hitch against your lips.

neither of you moves.

his fingers are still wrapped around your arm, warm and firm, and you hate how familiar it feels. how right. how easy it would be to lean in, to—

then he clears his throat and lets go like you've burned him, taking a deliberate step back.

"watch your step," he mutters, already turning away to gather your scattered notes.

you don't miss the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tremble just slightly as he hands your wand back.

the rest of the patrol is silent, but everything left unsaid makes the air between you suffocating.

you pushed open the heavy oak door to the prefects’ bathroom, steam curling around your ankles as you stepped inside. the massive sunken tub glimmered under floating enchanted candles, their reflections dancing across the marble walls. and it seems that no other prefect from the other houses were here.

perfect—just what you needed after a gruelling day of school.

then you heard the water splash.

sunghoon stood waist-deep in the pool, his back to you as he peeled off his soaked white t-shirt. water sluiced down the defined muscles of his shoulders, tracing the elegant dip of his spine before disappearing beneath the waterline. the dim candlelight gilded every curve of his toned arms as he tossed the shirt aside with a wet smack against the tiles.

your brain short-circuited.

he turned at the sound of your choked gasp, water dripping from his dark hair. for one horrifying second, his eyes locked onto yours—wide, startled—before his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.

"enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

you whirled around so fast you nearly tripped over your own robes. "this is a shared space, you—you exhibitionist!"

his laugh echoed off the marble. "shared, yes. which means knocking is customary." you could hear the grin in his voice. "unless you were hoping to catch me like this?"

"i'd rather catch dragon pox!" you fumbled for the door handle, cheeks burning.

"liar," he called after you. the splash of water told you he'd leaned back, completely at ease. "you stared for a solid five seconds."

you slammed the door hard enough to rattle the torches in their sconces.

…

"five seconds?" sunoo nearly spat out his pumpkin juice, eyes sparkling with mischief. across the table, jungwon choked on a laugh, thumping his chest.

you stabbed your fork into a roasted potato with unnecessary force. "i did not stare."

"sure," jungwon drawled, stealing a roll from your plate. "and i'm the minister of magic."

sunoo leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "you two need to either fuck or duel already. the sexual tension is giving me hives."

"sunoo!" you kicked him under the table, but your traitorous gaze flickered across the hall before you could stop it.

sunghoon sat with his usual group, idly stirring his soup. as if sensing your stare, he glanced up—and winked. the bastard had the audacity to mouth "five seconds" before his friends noticed and started elbowing him.

you dropped your forehead onto the table with a groan.

you should’ve known the universe had it out for you.

the thought pounded in time with your footsteps as you stomped toward the forbidden forest, the cold night air biting at your exposed skin.

of course this would happen on the one night you actually planned to sleep before dawn.

of course it was a group of reckless first-years from your house who decided to wander off here.

and of course—because fate had never once been kind to you—sunghoon was the one marching beside you, his shoulder brushing yours every few steps like some cruel reminder of how things used to be.

"this is your fault," you muttered, more out of habit than anything else.

his sigh was barely audible over the crunch of leaves underfoot. "how, exactly?"

"you gave them detention for the dungbomb incident. this is clearly revenge."

"ah yes, because children are famously logical creatures who plan elaborate revenge schemes." his voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was no real heat behind it. just exhaustion. it threw you off—this version of sunghoon who didn't rise to your bait like he used to.

you risked a glance at his profile in the moonlight. the sharp line of his jaw was tense, his brows drawn together in that way they always got when he was thinking too hard. you hated that you still noticed these things. hated that after all this time, you could still read him like a book you'd memorised but pretended not to care about.

the forest loomed ahead, darker than the sky around it. a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"we'll split up," you said abruptly. "cover more ground."

"no." the word came out sharp, surprising you both. he cleared his throat. "it's... not safe. we stick together."

there was something in his voice you couldn't place—something that made your chest ache in a way you refused to examine. so you just nodded, stepping into the treeline beside him, close enough that your sleeves brushed. neither of you moved away.

the forest was wrong tonight.

usually alive with rustling leaves and distant animal calls, now it was eerily silent, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. your own breathing sounded too loud in your ears, your heartbeat pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"this is stupid," you muttered, just to break the silence. "what kind of idiots think wandering into the murder forest at midnight is a good idea?"

next to you, sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh. "the same kind that think turning their rival's hair pink right before a quidditch match is a solid life choice."

the unexpected callback to simpler times caught you off guard. warmth bloomed in your chest before you could stop it, quickly smothered by years of built-up resentment.

"that was one time—"

"and the time you swapped my pumpkin juice with vinegar—"

"you deserved that—"

"and the time you definitely stared at me in the prefect's bathroom for five full seconds—"

something inside you snapped.

"oh my god, are you serious right now?" you whirled on him so fast he actually took a step back. your wandlight threw wild shadows across his face, illuminating the startled widening of his eyes. "you're really gonna act like i started all this? like you weren't the one who—"

your voice cracked traitorously. you hated it. hated the way his expression shifted from amused to concerned in an instant. hated how your eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears.

sunghoon went completely still. "who what?" he asked quietly.

the words tore out of you like a dam breaking:

"who ditched me the second you found a shinier group of friends!"

the silence that followed was deafening.

sunghoon looked like you'd struck him. his mouth opened, closed. for the first time since you'd known him, park sunghoon seemed at a complete loss for words.

you didn't wait for him to find them. turning on your heel, you stormed deeper into the forest, your pulse roaring in your ears. you made it three steps before you heard him move behind you—quick, urgent footsteps—and then his hand was wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

"wait—"

a shrill voice cut through the trees before he could continue.

"oh thank merlin!"

the first-years.

sunghoon's grip loosened immediately, but his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before falling away. the ghost of his touch burned long after he'd turned toward the sound.

the walk back was torture.

the kids shuffled ahead of you, sniffling and covered in mud and leaves, while you and sunghoon trailed behind in suffocating silence. your mind raced, replaying the moment over and over—the look on his face when you said those words, the way his hand felt around your wrist.

at one point, he moved closer, his shoulder brushing yours. "we should—" he started, voice low.

you sped up, pretending to adjust the scarf of a trembling first-year. you didn’t wand to do this now.

by the time you reached the common room, your jaw ached from clenching it. you handed out detentions on autopilot ("no, you cannot serve it together, yes, you're lucky we're not telling the head of house"), your voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

the second the kids scurried off, you bolted for your room, desperate for space to breathe, to think—

—only for a hand to catch the door before you could slam it shut.

suddenly, you were being yanked into his room.

"what the hell—"

"i didn't ditch you."

his voice was rough, raw in a way you'd never heard before. his grip on your wrist was tight enough that you could feel his pulse racing against your skin—or maybe that was yours. you were too overwhelmed to tell.

you glared up at him, chest heaving. "oh, really? because i remember you ghosting me for months—"

"my parents made me."

the words burst out of him like he'd been holding them in for years. he released your wrist to rake a hand through his hair, pacing the small space between his bed and the door like a caged animal.

"they—merlin, they lost it when they found out i was friends with a muggle-born," he continued, voice cracking on the last word. "threatened to pull me out of hogwarts. i had to—" he stopped, swallowed hard. "i had to pretend. until i could figure something out."

the confession hit you like a bludger to the chest. all the air left your lungs at once.

memories flooded back—sunghoon's sudden distance fifth year, the way he'd flinch whenever his new friends made comments about blood status, the times you'd caught him looking at you across the great hall with an expression you couldn't decipher.

"you could've told me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he shook his head, eyes shining in the dim light. "I couldn't. you would've tried to fix it. you would've—" his voice broke. "you would've gotten yourself hurt."

the raw honesty in his words stole your breath. for years, you'd assumed the worst; that he'd outgrown you, that you weren't enough. but this... this was something else entirely.

the air between you was heavy with everything unsaid. you could see the exact moment he realised how close you were standing, because his breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"...i'm sorry," he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it.

the words settled over you like a warm cloak. not perfect. not a complete fix. but a start.

"me too," you whispered back.

when you slipped out of his room and back into yours, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

neither of you slept that night. you lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every look. wondering if this changed everything—or nothing at all.

you woke with a start, your cheek pressed against a half-open textbook. sunlight streamed through the common room windows—you’d fallen asleep at your usual table with the view ofthe lake, the one sunghoon had stolen so often. your neck ached, and there was drool on your parchment.

a shadow fell across your notes.

"rough night?"

sunghoon stood over you, holding two steaming mugs. he looked unfairly put-together for someone who’d also presumably gotten no sleep—his hair slightly damp from a shower, his prefect badge already pinned neatly to his robes.

you sat up too fast, your elbow knocking into an inkwell. "what are you—"

"coffee." he set one mug down in front of you, black with three sugars, just how you liked it. "figured you’d need it."

you stared at the mug like it might transform into a dungbomb. this was new. this was terrifying.

across the room, a group of fourth-years whispered behind their hands.

sunghoon cleared his throat. "patrols tonight. meet at eight?"

"yeah," you managed. "eight."

he nodded, already turning away—then paused. "oh, and y/n?"

"what?"

"you’ve got…" he gestured to his own cheek, mirroring where your face had been smushed against your notes. "ink."

you swiped at your face furiously as he walked off, but not before catching the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

the whispers started the moment you walked in together to the dining hall.

it wasn’t intentional—you’d just happened to leave the common room at the same time, and sunghoon had held the door open for you like some kind of gentleman, and now the your entire table was gaping.

"what the hell happened last night?" sunoo demanded as you slid onto the bench. next to him, jungwon’s eyebrows were in his hairline.

"nothing," you muttered, reaching for the toast.

"nothing?" jungwon leaned in. "he’s been staring at you since you sat down."

your head snapped up. sure enough, sunghoon was watching you from across the hall, chin propped on his hand. when he caught your eye, he smirked and took an exaggerated sip from his mug—the same one he’d brought you earlier.

you kicked sunoo under the table when he opened his mouth. "don’t."

meanwhile, at the slytherin table, sunghoon’s so-called friends weren’t even pretending not to stare. one of them—a tall guy with a permanent sneer—said something under his breath. sunghoon’s response was too quiet to hear, but the way his friend’s face paled was very satisfying.

you found out what he’d said to them later, when you passed them in the corridor.

"—thought you were done with that," sneer-boy was hissing, just around the corner from where you’d frozen mid-step.

"changed my mind," sunghoon’s voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "got a problem with it?"

"she’s a muggle-born—"

"finish that sentence," sunghoon said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "and i’ll hex you into next week."

silence.

you ducked into an alcove before they could see you, your heart pounding. when sunghoon walked past minutes later, alone, he paused—like he could sense you there.

"you can come out now," he called, amused. "unless you’re planning to ambush me again. which, fair."

you stepped out, cheeks burning. "i wasn’t eavesdropping—"

"liar." he fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. "but since you heard all that…" he bumped your shoulder with his. "you’re welcome."

you bumped him back, harder. "idiot."

he grinned.

things changed after that.

sunghoon stopped stealing your study spot—instead, he’d join you there, sprawling across the bench like he owned it. you stopped hexing his belongings—mostly. (some traditions had to stay alive.)

his old friends glowered at you in the halls. yours teased you mercilessly.

and when you had patrols together, the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore—just quiet, comfortable.

(though he did still tease you about the bathroom incident. some things would never change.)

the moment the first raindrop hit your nose, you knew this trip was doomed.

you'd been assigned to chaperone a group of first-years on their first hogsmeade visit, with sunghoon as your unfortunate co-supervisor—because apparently the universe still hadn't finished laughing at you. the kids had dragged you from honeydukes to zonko's, their excitement barely contained as they pressed against every shop window.

sunghoon lingered at the back of the group, hands in his pockets, occasionally shooting you glances you couldn't quite decipher.

then the sky opened up without warning. one second you were counting heads near the post office, the next icy rain was pelting down in sheets, sending students scattering in every direction.

"in here!" sunghoon's voice cut through the chaos as his fingers closed around your wrist. you didn't process where he was pulling you until the bell above the door tinkled and the overwhelming scent of floral perfume hit you.

madam puddifoot's. the most notoriously romantic tea shop in the village, all lace doilies and floating cherubs and couples canoodling in heart-shaped booths.

"we are not—" you began, already backpedalling, but it was too late. the first-years had already stampeded inside, their squeals of delight echoing off the pink walls.

sunghoon stepped in behind you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he shook rainwater from his hair. "well. this is cozy."

you shot him a glare that could melt steel.

"i'd rather swim back to the castle."

the elderly witch behind the counter beamed at your bedraggled group. "young love! how precious!"

"we're not—"

"just chaperones," sunghoon finished smoothly, though the smirk playing at his lips ruined any attempt at innocence.

the next twenty minutes passed in a haze of humiliation. the first-years were seated at a large table near the back, leaving you and sunghoon wedged into a tiny booth for two—one adorned with actual cupid statues that periodically blew glitter into the air. your face burned as a cherub floated by dumping rose petals on unsuspecting patrons.

across from you, sunghoon looked unbearably amused, stirring his tea with infuriating calm.

"you're enjoying this," you accused, watching as he added a third sugar cube to his cup.

he raised an eyebrow. "the tea's decent."

"i meant the utter humiliation of this situation."

the corner of his mouth twitched. "that too."

a sudden commotion at the first-years' table saved you from responding. one of the girls was pointing between you two with alarming enthusiasm. "are you going to kiss?"

your teacup clattered against its saucer. sunghoon choked on his sip.

"we are not—"

"not in front of you lot," sunghoon interrupted solemnly, sending the table into giggles.

you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him wince. "you're dead to me."

the rain showed no signs of letting up, trapping you in this pastel nightmare. as minutes ticked by, you became increasingly aware of every accidental brush of sunghoon's knee against yours, every time his fingers grazed yours reaching for the sugar bowl. the shop's enchanted ceiling—currently mimicking a sunset—cast warm light across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face in a way that made your chest feel oddly tight.

at one point, you caught him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite place—something between amusement and that same unreadable look he'd worn in the forest after your argument.

"what?" you muttered, self-consciously wiping at your face.

he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear. "just wondering how long it'll take you to admit this isn't so bad."

before you could retort, a chorus of "ooooooh!" erupted from the first-years' table. you looked down to realise sunghoon's hand was still covering yours on the tabletop—when had that happened?

you jerked back as if burned, sending a saucer clattering to the floor. the resulting cheers from the children made you want to disappear into the upholstery.

by the time the rain eased, your dignity was beyond salvage. the walk back to hogwarts was a parade of giggles and not-so-subtle whispers from your charges. sunghoon walked beside you, his shoulder bumping yours every few steps like he couldn't quite help himself.

"you realise we're never living this down," you groaned as the castle gates came into view.

he grinned, that infuriating, lopsided grin that used to make your stomach flip in fourth year and—annoyingly—still did now.

"where's your sense of adventure?"

"back in that tea shop, buried under approximately two hundred rose petals."

his laughter followed you all the way up the path, warm and familiar, and despite yourself, you found your steps falling into sync with his. (and if you didn't protest when one of the first-years snapped another photo of you two walking shoulder-to-shoulder—well. some things were better left unexamined.)

things between you and sunghoon had become dangerously comfortable. what started as reluctant co-prefect duties had slowly melted into late-night study sessions where your head would end up on his shoulder, patrols where his fingers lingered a second too long when helping you up, and inside jokes whispered too close to each other’s ears in the great hall.

it wasn’t a relationship, not really—just stolen moments and unspoken tension that made your stomach flip whenever he smirked at you across a crowded room.

that’s why it stung so much when you walked into the library and saw him laughing with eunji, a bright-eyed ravenclaw a year younger than you both who had newly joined. logically, you knew there was nothing romantic about it—he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as she enthusiastically explained some arithmancy concept, his expression more amused than affectionate. but the way his eyes crinkled at her enthusiasm, the easy way he nodded along—it reminded you too much of how he used to look at you before everything got complicated.

"y/n!" sunghoon called when he spotted you hovering by the shelves, waving you over with that same warm smile that always made your pulse skip. "come join us. eunji’s explaining this ridiculous theory about using arithmancy to predict quidditch outcomes."

you forced your feet to move, your grip tightening on your book bag. eunji greeted you with a cheerful wave, her braids swinging. "sunghoon said you’re brilliant at charms! maybe you can help me understand this part about wand movement harmonics?"

the next hour passed in a blur of half-hearted contributions from you and increasingly animated discussion between the two of them. every time you tried to interject, the conversation would circle back to some inside joke or advanced magical theory that left you feeling like an outsider in your own friendship. when eunji reached over to adjust sunghoon’s grip on her notes, demonstrating some wand technique, you suddenly couldn’t breathe properly.

"i should go," you muttered, gathering your things before either could protest. "forgot i promised to meet sunoo for... something."

sunghoon’s brow furrowed as you stood. "you okay?"

"fine." you forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "just tired."

the walk back to your dorm felt infinitely longer than usual, each step weighed down by memories of fifth year—of sunghoon slowly slipping away from you, of empty promises to study together, of eventually finding him surrounded by new friends who looked at you like you didn’t belong.

hogsmeade weekend only made it worse. you’d been hoping to bump into sunghoon accidentally-on-purpose near honeydukes, maybe share a chocolate frog like old times. instead, you found him outside the three broomsticks deep in conversation with eunji again, their heads bent together over some parchment. when he laughed at something she said, that familiar loud, unguarded laugh that used to be yours, something sharp twisted in your chest.

you turned on your heel so fast you nearly collided with a group of third-years.

"there you are!" sunoo’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts as he and jungwon appeared beside you, their arms laden with zonko’s purchases. "we’ve been looking everywhere—oh."

sunoo followed your gaze to where sunghoon was now helping eunji adjust her scarf. "that again?"

you let them steer you into the three broomsticks, where jungwon immediately ordered three butterbeers.

"you’re being ridiculous," sunoo said bluntly as you slumped into a chair. "he looks at you like you invented sunlight. that’s just some kid he’s tutoring."

"but what if—"

"what if nothing," jungwon interrupted, pushing a frothy mug toward you. "remember when you turned his hair pink before the gryffindor match last year? he still smiles when someone mentions that."

the memory should have comforted you. instead, it just made you think of how easily things could change—how sunghoon had drifted away once before, how his parents’ disapproval still hung over whatever this was between you.

by monday, you’d started taking deliberate detours to avoid him. patrols were reassigned, library visits carefully timed, and when you couldn’t avoid crossing paths, you kept conversations painfully polite. sunghoon’s confused frowns and hesitant "hey, wait—"s as you hurried away only made your chest ache more.

"are you trying to break his heart or yours?" sunoo demanded one evening after you ducked into an empty classroom to avoid sunghoon in the corridor.

you pressed your back against the cold stone wall. "it’s not like that. i just... need space."

"from him? or from whatever’s happening between you two?"

you didn’t have an answer.

the tension came to a head in charms class. with flitwick delayed by some mishap in the staff room, the classroom had dissolved into chaos.

you’d gotten pulled into helping jay, a handsome gryffindor, untangle some particularly stubborn enchanted yarn. his dramatic retelling of his disastrous attempt to knit a scarf for his gran had you laughing so hard your sides hurt.

then you felt it—that unmistakable prickle of being watched.

sunghoon sat three rows back, his usually expressive face unreadable as he stared at you. his quill had stopped moving entirely, fingers clenched so tightly around it you could see the whites of his knuckles from across the room. when jay leaned in to whisper another joke, sunghoon’s jaw tightened visibly, his dark eyes flashing with something that sent heat crawling up your neck.

you forced yourself to look away, suddenly fascinated by the grain of your desk. but like a compass needle finding north, your gaze kept drifting back. minutes passed, and he was still watching you with that same intensity, as if trying to communicate something words couldn’t capture.

when flitwick finally arrived and class ended, you were out of your seat before the dismissal fully left his mouth. you didn’t look back, even when you heard sunghoon call your name in the corridor. your heart pounded as you took the stairs two at a time, your mind racing with questions you weren’t ready to face.

why did his attention still affect you like this? why did part of you still want to turn around and walk straight into that stormy gaze?

and most terrifying of all—what if you’d been wrong about everything?

the uncertainty settled heavy in your chest as you disappeared around the corner, leaving sunghoon and all your unanswered questions behind.

you should've known better than to think you'd have the prefect's bathroom to yourself. the universe had a cruel sense of humour when it came to you and sunghoon.

the massive, pool-like tub was empty when you arrived, steam curling off the water's surface in lazy tendrils. you'd changed into your bathing suit—a modest but pretty thing—before stepping in, sighing as the warm water lapped at your skin.

the golden taps lining the walls gleamed, each set with a different jewel that dispensed everything from rose-scented bubbles to vanilla-infused oils. you'd chosen a mix of both, the sweet floral scent wrapping around you as you leaned back, eyes closed, finally relaxing for the first time in days.

then the door slammed open.

your eyes flew open just in time to see sunghoon stride in, already shirtless, a towel slung low over his hips. your breath caught. he looked unfairly good, water droplets clinging to his skin from the humid air, his dark hair slightly damp like he'd just showered.

his gaze locked onto yours immediately.

"you," he said, voice rough, "have been avoiding me."

you swallowed, sinking a little deeper into the water. "i wasn't-"

"don't lie." he dropped the towel (thank merlin, he was wearing swim trunks) and stepped into the pool, not breaking eye contact for a second. the water rippled around him as he moved closer, and you instinctively backed toward the far edge, your pulse thundering in your ears.

he stopped you with a hand on your wrist. "where are you going?"

"the-the soap." you gestured weakly to the rose-and-vanilla tap across the pool. "i wanted to.."

sunghoon's grip tightened just slightly. "then go."

you didn't move. neither did he.

the silence stretched, thick with tension, until he finally let out a frustrated breath and tugged you closer. "you're really going to pretend nothing's wrong?"

you bit your lip, glancing away. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"bullshit." his thumb brushed over your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. "you've been dodging me for days. skipping patrols. running away every time i get near you." his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "was it because of him?"

you blinked. "who?"

"that gryffindor. the one you were laughing with in class." his jaw clenched. "are you into him? is that why—"

"what? no!" you gaped at him. "i was just helping him with—"

"then why?" sunghoon's fingers slid up your arm, his touch burning even through the water. "why avoid me?"

you hesitated, then muttered, "you were the one always with that ravenclaw girl."

sunghoon stilled. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. "eunji?"

you scowled. "don't act like you don't know who i'm talking about."

he laughed, low and amused, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "she's my friend's little sister, and, for the record, very much into girls."

your cheeks burned as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "were you jealous?"

"no!"

"liar." his nose brushed along your neck, and you shivered.

"you've been driving me crazy, you know that? watching you laugh with someone else, then running every time i tried to talk to you—" his hands slid down to your waist, gripping tight. "i couldn't take it"

your breath hitched. "sunghoon—"

"let me help you with that soap," he murmured, already reaching for the bottle floating nearby.

you didn't protest as he poured a generous amount into his palms, his hands smoothing over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch deliberate and slow. when he reached your back, you tensed, but his fingers were careful, kneading the tension from your muscles as he worked the lather into your skin.

"you're so fucking pretty," he muttered, his lips brushing your shoulder. "it's unfair."

you leaned into him without thinking, your head tipping back against his chest. his hands stilled, then slid around to your front, tracing the dip of your collarbones, the curve of your waist. you could feel his heartbeat against your back, rapid and unsteady.

"sunghoon," you whispered, "your parents wouldn't approve of this. of us."

he stilled, then huffed a laugh. "who cares what they think?"

"they pulled you out of my life once already—"

"and i regret letting that happen every day." his thumb brushed your wrist. "they'll give in once they meet you."

your breath hitched. "you're going to make me meet them?"

"yeah," he said simply, pulling you flush against him. "you're gonna be my girlfriend after all."

the word sent heat rushing to your cheeks. "i never agreed to that."

sunghoon's hands slid to your waist. "then say no." when you didn't, his smirk returned. "that's what i thought."

he turned you to face him, his eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. "tell me you feel it too."

you didn't have to ask what he meant. "i do."

his breath left him in a rush, and then his mouth was on yours, hot and desperate.

the kiss stole the air from your lungs, a messy clash of teeth and tongue and aching want. his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid you might slip away, fingertips digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your swimsuit. you whimpered against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging just enough to make him groan—a low, broken sound that sent a fresh bolt of heat straight to you.

"fuck," he muttered against your lips, voice hoarse, "i missed you. you have no idea—"

he cut himself off by kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak. you barely realised you were moving until your back hit the slick marble edge of the pool, trapping you between the cool stone and the hard, burning press of sunghoon’s body.

he kissed like he was trying to memorise you—long, unhurried drags of his mouth against yours, punctuated by little nips to your bottom lip that had you gasping. one of his hands slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip beneath your ribs, until his thumb brushed just under the swell of your breast, featherlight.

you broke the kiss with a gasp, your head falling back against the marble. "sunghoon—"

"tell me to stop," he said, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. his hand stayed where it was, trembling slightly.

you opened your mouth—but no protest came out. instead, your hands slid down his chest, mapping the planes of muscle, the slick heat of his skin, until you were clutching at him helplessly.

"that's what i thought," he breathed, almost a laugh, before his mouth found your throat.

you choked on a moan as he kissed down the column of your neck, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the sting. his hands, bolder now, roamed freely over your body, mapping every inch like it was his right. the thin straps of your bathing suit slipped down your shoulders under his touch, and you shivered, equal parts from the chill of the air and the heat building inside you.

"someone could walk in," you gasped, barely coherent as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

he cursed under his breath, dragging himself back enough to look at you. his eyes were black with heat, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

"then come to my room," he said roughly, his voice pure sin. "please."

you hesitated—but then he kissed you again, slow this time, coaxing, like a promise of everything he wasn’t saying out loud. his thumb rubbed slow circles into your hip, grounding you.

"unless," he said against your mouth, smirking wickedly, "you'd rather stay here and risk getting caught."

you swatted his chest, but the fight had long since gone out of you. your body was already leaning into his, your mouth chasing his kiss. "fine," you whispered. "but only because—"

he didn't let you finish, with a grin, he lifted you out of the water in one smooth motion, making you squeal as he carried you toward the door, his lips finding yours again before you could protest.

“your room is right next door after all, so we don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else.”

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

#maegi’s recs #fic recs #sunghoon #i live for hogwarts x enhyphen fics #actually hogwarts x anything is my jam #god guysss this was so friggin good and that tension offfffff #seriously i need a MINUTE

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